


Station 0A2X

by Burch



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: ... do i have to tag Jeff Bazos and Mark Zuckerberg?, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Space, Although this is a natsuki/yuri fic, Angst, But not between yuri and natsuki, Child Abuse, Doki doki literature club - Freeform, F/F, I'm really bad at titles so I apologise, IN SPACE!, Lesbians in Space, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, That'd be far too easy, There'll be more tags added just know that it's, There's almost a cyberpunk feel in the conglomerates but it's not dystopian don't worry, Trans Natsuki, Transphobia, Well that's a tag, Whose MC????, Wikihow was NO help at all smh, it's pretty slow burn and the focus isn't immediately about them, never heard of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burch/pseuds/Burch
Summary: Isn't it odd how confining space can feel? An infinite void that expands in every direction, and yet Yuri, daughter of a successful businessman, still only has one choice: marry Victor, become a well behaved housewife and live out the rest of her life in a never-ending cycle of days that seem to repeat themselves.So, naturally, the club are going to try and prevent the marriage from going ahead. All of them because Yuri is a good friend to them; Natsuki because she also hopes that they can become more than good friends.A Doki Doki Literature Club fic set in SPACE!





	1. A Real Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is! DDLC in Space! Sorry if there are any typos; I don't have a Beta. Feel free to comment any you spot and I'll try and edit them out.
> 
> Enjoy!

All four girls crowded around the item as though it were a holy relic, each scared to touch it but simultaneously trying to take it all in. It was old, and dusty, and although the binding was thick and leathery each girl felt that it would be delicate. The purple binding (which, by the by, appeared to be genuine leather carved off of a cow, as opposed to the far more common synth-leather) had a light, faded, golden eye on the front and had the title in a darker gold that proudly proclaimed the title: "Portrait of Markov".

"Is that...?"

"Yes."

The literature that the club read, of course, was not books in the traditional sense of the word. They were used to ebooks, which they had plenty of, as each had access to the educational archive and with it millions of manuscripts of every kind. They had been meeting for a year to read and compare these, even typing up their own poetry on to documents from time to time and sharing them on thin, metallic dataslabs that had holographic screens. Despite all this, not a single one of them had ever laid eyes on a real book before.

"Where did you get this?" Monika asked, looking up to Yuri for an answer. Yuri, however, frowned slightly and stared at her feet while she shuffled them somewhat.

"...Victor."

"That's so nice of him! He's trying to win you back with presents and love after you rejected him? That's kinda romantic!" Sayori insisted, instantly trying to find the silver lining the moment Yuri finished talking. In reality, they all already knew exactly who the book was from the moment they laid eyes on it, and why it was such a problem.

"You mean he's trying to buy you like a fucking whore."

"Natsuki, please watch your language," Monika chided, but it was hardly any use. They had all come to the conclusion that she had the mouth of a sailor by this point, but it was essential for the president to at least look as though she was attempting to implement her policies.

"Fuck you," Natsuki said, but not angrily; it was more of a throwaway comment. "You know it's true. This isn't, like, a rad gift. It's a goddamn power play. I mean, it totally blows your reasoning out of the water, right Yuri?"

Yuri sighed slightly, and started to glance around the room, as though she were trying to be anywhere else, talking about anything else. "Yeah."

Sayori, however, didn't entirely cotton on. "How does a book change Yuri being a lesbian?"

There was an uneasy ripple of laughter throughout the room, but Yuri couldn't meet anyone's eyes. She was staring at the table, but wasn't even focused on the book, or the antique packaging paper it was wrapped up in, with string strewn across it as though wrapping or string were everyday objects. She was staring at the metallic table the book was on, her eyes shifting constantly to try and find a scratch or dent or anything she could focus on.

"That wasn't my reason. Father always said marriage is like a business contract; it isn't about love." She paused for just a moment, taking a breath and collecting her thoughts. "Being a lesbian doesn't change that, even if he did accept it. I lied and told Father that Victor was too far beneath my station to be profitable. This," she said, motioning to the book, "is a clear indication that that is simply not the case."

There was a pause as the reality sunk in.

"I can't believe your dad is a slut."

"Natsuki!"

"Anyhow, isn't Victor high in Zuckerberg? You know, the main rival to Bezos, your dad's company?"

Yuri frowned. "I've tried that one. Apparently, that only makes the marriage stronger as I'm not putting all my data on one memory stick, so to speak. Also, he works in the androids department, and my dad is head of cybersecurity. There's very little rivalry between the two."

Silence fell like a death sentence, uneasy and uncertain. Each felt like they should say something, but had no idea how to break the ice. Yuri kept on focusing on her shoes, shuffling them left, and then right, and then back again. Natsuki was leaning back in a chair, gritting her teeth and clenching and unclenching her fist. Monika sat perfectly still, only turning slightly to look at the other members and gauge their reactions to try and help her to think of something, anything to say. It was finally Sayori who took a leap of faith:

"Is the book any good?" It was a hopeful question, filled with a forced joy and optimism. Yuri's reply, however, couldn't have been further from this. Her tone was bitter, dripping with venom.

"It's brilliant." To admit that Victor had not only managed to not only buy a book, which would have cost more than even Yuri could fathom, but also to get a book that was so perfect for Yuri and her tastes was difficult for her, to say the least. He knew her to an extent that was more than she was comfortable acknowledging, especially as the two had never met.

"Can I... touch it?"

"… yes."

Monika leant forward in her chair, eyeing the book over. Her left hand trailed over to her right and found a hidden button, and a soft jet of air was heard as her second skin loosened, allowing her to unpeel the glove from herself.

Whilst it was certainly not illegal to not wear a second skin, it was advised that anyone who expected themselves to have to leave a secure building should wear one underneath their clothes in case of an emergency. A greater emphasis was put on their importance after the blowout of 3587, where one of the six Green Towers were taken down in a terrorist attack, piercing the artificial atmosphere and leaving an unspeakable amount of people without oxygen. They are as instinctive to the population of Station 0A2X as seatbelts should be to an inhabitant of Earth. With a simple tap to the collarbone, they could become airtight and space resistant suits. The government issued ones lasted an hour, however many private companies sold ones that lasted longer or had different fashion.

The glove that Monika peeled off had an almost complete ring of green on it, however it faded after the glove was disconnected. This ring was connected to a line which would also glow when the suit was worn correctly, albeit very faintly. There was a circle on each hand, and a single line running up the outside of the arm and leg, each of which connected to a small rectangle at the collarbone (the aforementioned button that activated the suit) on a dark navy or black backing. They were somewhat similar to the lines found on Adidas apparel, even though they are skintight, colourful and infinitely more stylish.

Monika touched the binding of the book with her bare hand, running it down the spine and taking in the texture of it. It was unlike anything she'd felt before; synth had a somewhat different, smoother texture, to the point where the book felt unnatural and firmly placed in the past. She went to pick it up and, after a nod of confirmation from Yuri, did so.

It was heavy. Monika was used to near weightlessness when she read, but this looked as though you would have to rest it on something if you wanted to truly get in to it. She continued to inspect it, tilting it this way and that to see how the light reflected off of the lettering or lifting it up and down just to see how it felt. Eventually, she did pass the book around. Sayori lifted it above her head, looking at the underside to see if it stuck with the conventions they were taught in school about having a blurb there (it did not, as the blurb was on the inside of the front cover, a hardback convention which Sayori had forgotten about), and Natsuki simply leafed through the pages and read phrases here and there to see how it felt.

More than anything, however, Natsuki was hit by the very heavy realisation that the book in her lap was worth more than anything that she and her father owned combined. Even if they somehow owned, and then sold, their flat, along with everything in it, it would doubtless not be anywhere near enough to be able to afford a book.

"But there's a twist, which I obviously won't spoil for you, but you just won't see it coming. It really changes the meaning of everything that's come before it," Yuri finished explaining. She was interrupted by a bell coming from the speaker in the corner of the room. It was 1700 already, it seemed, but Natsuki could hardly rip her gaze off of the book lying heavy in her lap.

"...May I?", Yuri asked, hand outstretched patiently for the book. Natsuki's head jerked up, and she looked at the hand for what she thought was a split second too long before handing the book over to her in an unusually delicate fashion. That millisecond of extra hesitation where she focused on the hand, not the question, was not appreciated by Natsuki. Yuri had enough on her plate; she certainly didn’t need her fantasising about what her nails look like, and whether she's loaded enough to afford nail polish.

Besides, Yuri had class. Nobody with even a slither of self respect would consider Natsuki, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is! I HATE that I had to liken second skins to Adidas, because they're not tracksuits, but the lines kinda look the same. Please feel free to comment literally anything! I'm open to criticism, keysmashes, compliments, questions or simple observations.
> 
> In case you were wondering, Monika's lines are green, Natsuki's are pink, Yuri's are purple and Sayori's are blue.
> 
> There will be plot, by the way. Watch out for that ;).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. The Art of the Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monika character building? In MY Natyuri fic? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Also, again, I don't have a Beta and I wrote this on my phone, so please tell me if there are any typos.

"Why Literature?"

The man in front of her, the head of Resources, displaced and resettled his glasses in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. They were government issue, so had a black, chunky frame that reflected the light from the overhead LED.

Everyone knew, of course, that they weren't glasses. They were readers. Identical to glasses in look, but far more advanced: they allowed the wearer to see a screen in front of them that held all of the personal information of whoever they were looking at at that moment. They could read heartbeats, take temperatures and see records in milliseconds. Only a few were legally allowed to possess such an item; the head of Resources was one of them.

"-at both G, 0G and half G ball. You could have captained those teams, Monika. The debate team wants you as their head, as do half a dozen other clubs. Why turn your attention to something with such little student intetest?"

He was slowly and rhythmically tapping his fingers on the desk that separated them, the only furnishing in the small office. Was this, Monika wondered, what a clock sounded like? She'd read about them, but never actually experienced an analogue clock. As she wondered this, she leant back somewhat in the small, hard seat and looked out of the window, but it was simply overlooking a dark and nondescript square, which was hardly any better than the dark and cramped room.

"Well?"

Monika slowly turned back to look at the man opposite her. His suit was grey, his tie was grey and his shirt was grey; he would hardly understand why one might like literature.

"I needed a moment to think. You're asking a very difficult question; after all, how can any of us be expected to quantify love? Especially a student who's barely just passed puberty."

The answer hung in the air for a few unsatisfactory seconds before the Head went to begin tapping away at the screen. If it had been any other man, Monika would've tried to give a solid response, but no matter what she said, he wouldn't have cared. He cared about one thing.

"If you cannot fight your corner, you cannot expect me to just give you funding."

"I'd hardly call it funding. Just a room, for a few hours a week. We already have access to the Archives."

"For what purpose? What benefit?" He demanded, a hand flying to the side in outrage. "These resources do not come from nowhere, Miss. Ningendenai! Who benefits?"

Monika took a slow breath and looked him dead in the eye.

"Yuri Okane."

His hand slowly returned to his side.

"Yuri Okane has shown ample interest in joining this group, as have two other people whose names you shouldn't concern yourself with. Would that be enough benefit, Mr. Kubota?"

There was a pause.

"Room B7. It's free for an hour every day after school, and that's what I can offer you. No more."

"Your helpfulness in this matter has been duly noted, Mr. Kubota," she smiled, standing up and extending a hand. He tentatively accepted it as one might accept a defeat, but they shook hands.

And with that, the club was founded.

 

\-------

 

"You saw your dad last week so we have, what, three weeks until you meet him again?" Natsuki asked, perched on the end of a desk. There was a pause as Yuri did some maths before a shy response:

"20 days."

"Yeah, three weeks, dumbass."

"Natsuki, that's not helping." Monika turned to face Yuri. "Why does your Father want this marriage?"

"Same reason any other slut does: money."

"Hey!" Sayori stood up from her chair, indignant for Yuri. "I'm sure he's just trying to secure a future for Yuri, like any good dad!"

"Um, it's because - I mean, I think that, I guess I like to think he's got some concern for me," Yuri stuttered, "but he can't be interested in money. He's got enough. I think it's the connections." Yuri had shrunk deeper and deeper in to herself as she talked to the point where her final words were barely a whisper.

Monika, however, made up for Yuri's lack of confidence  in abundance. "Well, we'll just have to make him an offer he can't refuse. We need to find something, or someone, far better than Victor."

"Yeah! Good jo-" Sayori's hand went to clap Monika on the shoulder. In her excitement at the apparent solution, she had let the fizz of excitement overcome her as she skipped forward, and nearly patted Monika's shoulder. She stopped just in time, though, and her hand clenched in to a fist for just a second as she brought it back down to her side. A look came on and off of her face in just as fast a time. It was a look of displeasure and discomfort mixed with a mild anger, but it was replaced with bubbly soon enough.

It is important for to understand that, as with many social settings and social contracts, there were a few unspoken rules in the Literature Club. Many were of little to no consequence. Many are mere idiosyncrasies that just make the inhabitants of the Literature Club human. However, there were a few vital rules.

Never touch Monika, for instance.

"Any ideas?"

Silence.

"Well, we've only had the book a day. We have some time left until Yuri's next meeting with her father. We'll think of something in that time." Monika said, as though she were trying to convince herself rather than her friends. "Think on it tonight."

"Why don't we share poems?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! My apologies that it's a touch short; as I said, I wrote this on my phone, so expected it to be a bit longer than it turned out to be.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	3. Afternoons

"This is too fucking tight, and not in a good way."   
   
A few heads turned, lips pursed disapprovingly. Yuri frowned slightly and looked her over while mumbling a very worried, "language, Natsuki, language!"

They were in Xiovon’s, a high-end shop, because after ten days the highly advanced and technically detailed plan that the four of them had concocted in a style that might be most comparable to the Ocean's Eleven was this: 

Go to a big ball and hope for a Cinderella moment.

This is why they were shopping for ball gowns. Whilst Yuri had many, the fanciest thing Natsuki owned was a skirt and a thin jumper, which was hardly satisfactory for an elegant ball.  
   
This was the seventh dress that Natsuki tried on, and with each one Yuri looked her up and down and scrutinised her closely. In any other circumstance, Yuri paying such close attention to her, gliding her fingers across her back in search for ties and ribbons and checking out her ass would have been very, very good.   
   
Actually, upon second consideration, it was still very good, as long as she could keep her more human desires under strict control.   
   
She bore this in mind as she went back in to the changing room to try on the eighth dress. Natsuki usually didn't like clothes shopping, but they were in a place so fancy that there were individual, gender neutral changing rooms with what Yuri called a "Carte Blanche," or as Natsuki put it, "a fuck-ton of money." It was hard not to like shopping when you could clear every rail without a second thought.   
   
As she slung the defeated dress over the rail to be dragged down by Yuri, she asked yet another question: "Why a ball?"   
   
"It's not a ball, i-"   
   
"Ok, whatever, it's basically a ball. It's Cinderella but on steroids but looking past that: why an unball?"   
   
Yuri suppressed the urge to tap her foot.   
   
"I need a suitable, well, suitor. It'll be the best place to find one: it'll be swarming with rich oligarchs, so the only problem becomes charming one."   
   
There was a silence as Natsuki bit back a comment about charm, simultaneously on the verge of telling her that charm was get worst and best quality. Of course, there was no way that Natsuki was going to tell her that she was enamoured by her grace, or the way she could talk for hours about her latest book. She could even talk about the book for longer than it took her to read it, the distraction subconsciously allowing her to tuck that stray hair behind her ear as her eyes lit up with a kind of love that -   
   
"Natsuki?"   
   
Fuck.   
   
"Hey! These ties aren't easy!"   
   
There was a slight sigh from Yuri, before she muttered. It was pessimistic, and filled with a slight longing that Natsuki couldn't entirely place her finger on:   
   
"The wind is ruining their courting places."   
   
"That are still courting places,   
But the lovers are in school."   
   
"How did you know that!" Yuri almost yelled amidst a scuffle as she was taken by surprise. It was a good job, Natsuki thought, that they were separated by a curtain, because she was blushing furiously, especially at the way Yuri's voice raised in pitch around the "know".  
   
"Don't overthink it, dipshit. You said you liked that other poem by that guy," she said, feigning slight ignorance, "So I read some of his other stuff." More specifically, she read the whole anthology.   
   
"You read more Larkin just because I liked 'Mr. Bleaney'?" There was a hope in her voice. With anyone else, Natsuki wouldn't have hesitated to extinguish the excitement, but with Yuri...   
   
"He's a miserable git, but yeah. I read a few of the works."   
   
"And committed them to memory, it would seem," was the sly remark back. Natsuki was blushing furiously, but she was also done, so she ripped the curtain open to change the subject.    
   
"Whatdoyouthink!"   
   
Yuri was speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't, so she just looked. It was pink, and frilly, with lots of bows in a lighter shade of pink than the dress, some of them even approaching white. Around the waist was a single frill of purple that split up the strapless dress.   
   
Yuri simply nodded, looking away from the slight shortness of the dress, which was ridiculous, really, as she was wearing a second skin. The thought still crossed Yuri's mind, however, as to whether she would be on the night of the ball.    
   
"It's good."   
   
"Good? That's the best you can do?"   
   
"...great? I mean, this is hardly the kind of event you wear a second skin to, so you'll have to go without a bra for a night, but other than that you look outstanding in it."   
   
"Eh, I don't wear bras much anyway," Natsuki shrugged as she went back in to the changing room, attempting to at least conceal her blush slightly.   
   
"Why not?" The reply was quick, and full of concern. It was a foreign sound, to say the least.   
   
"Why'd you think? I... there's not a whole bunch to support," she said with a wave of her hand to demonstrate as she pulled the dressing room curtain closed. She was unusually meek. There was a silence for a couple of seconds, and despite Yuri's fervent blushing, she confidently ploughed on.   
   
"Well, you need them anyway. It's a matter of health, you'll damage yourself in later life."   
   
"No, really, I-"   
   
"I'll buy them for you, it's n-"   
   
"Yuri!"   
   
The shout brought a silence among the shop for all of ten tense seconds. When she continued, it was in a controlled and almost rehearsed manner of speaking.   
   
"I appreciate you buying my dress, I really do. It's the nicest thing I own. But, I cannot - you cannot buy me a bra. I won't fucking let you."   
   
"Okay, but I'll only back off if you promise to wear them more often."   
   
"Fine, whatever."   
   
There was yet another awkward silence as they both festered on what they just said. Both felt that they had said the wrong thing, pushed too far or said too much, but neither knew how to fix it, so they both just walked to the check out and bought the gorgeous dress from the android.   
   
It cost more than Natsuki's entire wardrobe put together.   
   
   
\-----   
   
   
Yuri and Natsuki stepped out of the holocab to find Sayori and Monika waiting outside the house.   
   
Well, house was a misleading word.   
   
Words mean things. Whilst "house" is, technically speaking, correct, it is hardly accurate; after all there is a world of difference between a palace and a hovel, even though both are considered "houses". To accurately describe Yuri's less-than-humble abode, the word "mansion" would be far better.   
   
Monika thanked the android in the cab as the other three climbed the steps to the front door to the manor. It was bigger than Natsuki's apartment complex, with courts for all manner of sports, a swimming pool and even a servant's quarters, which, Natsuki noted with even more annoyance, was bigger than most of the flats in her complex as well.   
   
Her thoughts towards the manor could be surmised in two words:   
   
Fucking oligarchs.   
   
A man who looked to be of about out fifty opened the grand door to the manor. He was clearly a butler, with his grey hair slick back and a well-trimmed moustache. He even had a pure white cloth draped over his left arm, and his right arm tucked itself behind his back as he welcomed them to a grand entrance hall, complete with a coat stand, intricate rug and a light which, surprisingly, didn't appear to be LED.   
   
"Good evening," he said in a voice one might expect an Oxford scholar to speak with. "Is the missus expecting company?"   
   
"Indeed she is."   
   
"And, if you would be so kind as to remind me," he continued, cocking his eyebrow ever so slightly, "is the missus allowed company?"   
   
"Is the good master allowed as many breaks and bottles of wine as he currently allows himself?" Yuri replied in an equally light and jovial tone.   
   
"Very well. Shall I allow you to entertain yourselves, or would you require any services from me?"   
   
"We will be quite fine, Percival. We won't be having dinner tonight."   
   
"May I enquire as to why, m'lady?"   
   
"We will be going to the Saros ball."   
   
Percival looked over the group of four girls, three of which were quite uncomfortable with the apparent power dynamic and had found sudden fascination with their shoelaces, the vases and the furniture.   
   
"All of you, m'lady?"   
   
"Indeed." There was a pause as Percival undoubtedly attempted to figure out how Yuri got her hands on so many tickets, but she spoke before he could: "Would that be alright, Percival?"   
   
"Quite alright, I assure you. Enjoy the evening, m'lady." He went to go, but turned around for just a second to add something else, leaving forward as though he were sharing a secret: "And, if I may be so bold: I am told that the Elara cocktail packs quite the punch." And with that, Percival left them to their own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball scene is going to be... interesting. The Natyuri might really pick up the pace there... or will it drop dead? Find out next time on Station 0A2X!!! Oh, also: anyone who can think of a good chapter name (the current one is the title of the poem they quote) will get, like, half a mars bar. If I still have it by then :P
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	4. The Saros Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The ball was boring. 

Despite it being held in a luxuriously large hall where the ceiling looked more beautiful than the night sky, with different gemstones forming constellations that were breath-taking, the activity itself was lacklustre. The dances were regimented, the people all said the same things in different words and, to top it all off, Monika had made all the girls promise to not drink anything the ball. 

“Girls,” she had said whilst Yuri had gone to get dressed, “I want to ask you all not to drink anything. We’re running out of chances to get rid of Victor, and this means a lot to Yuri. We can’t mess this one up.” Natsuki had complained, naturally, but always planned to agree. 

So, they went about doing each other's hair and complementing each other without bringing it up again. Yuri’s dress was long, purple and elegant, with silk flowing off of her like waves down a waterfall, each sleeve fastened to her hands by intricate lace gloves that were partly see through, allowing an onlooker to see that she was wearing purple nail polish. As she walked, the dress draped a foot behind her, held up only by the hover technology weaved in to every fibre of the hem. Her hair was beautifully braided and draped over her right shoulder and, in the popular fashion of Beapra, a single strand of her hair was illuminated in a bioluminescent purple. 

And she was not paying any attention to Natsuki, who was sulking right next to her while drowning her sorrows in a mocktail. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Yuri muttered while staring across the room. 

“You beat her, easy.” 

“Pardon?” Yuri, unused to hearing compliments so readily given out by Natsuki, had torn her eyes off of the beauty to look at Natsuki for the first time in half an hour. Both of them were blushing, but Natsuki had stopped leaning against the punch table and started to pour herself another drink so that Yuri wouldn’t know that. 

“I mean, she looks like shit, so it’s not hard.” 

“Hey! Remember what Yuri said!” 

Sayori was right. Yuri had spent an hour teaching them how to behave, with essential lessons such as remembering not to swear, how to politely leave a conversation and drilling each on every one on them on how to bow. They were lucky, she had said, that they would be the lowest members there as they only had to memorise one bow. Somehow, Natsuki did not think this to be lucky. 

“Yeah, sorry.” 

“You know,” Monika said, leaning towards Yuri ever so slightly “she’s not psychic. You actually have to speak to her if you want to get to know her.” Monika had decided to wear a dark, green suit, complete with a waistcoat, crisp white shirt and a brighter, but equally green, tie. She passed a crystal champagne glass to Sayori, who was wearing a simple, blue and floor-length dress, complete with blue stud earrings. She was too embarrassed to get her own drinks as she couldn’t read the foreign language that they were labelled in. In truth, Natsuki couldn’t read them either; she just didn’t care. Yuri had been taught the archaic language from a young age as it was a symbol of status, as most useless skills are. When asked where Monika learnt it, she simply shrugged and said she picked it up somewhere. 

“But she’s just so... beautiful. I wouldn’t have a chance,” Yuri said, turning to Monika for reassurance. 

Natsuki couldn’t take it anymore.  

“I’m gonna go, uh, powder my nose, or whatever you guys call it,” she said, putting her glass down on the side and walking off. Her plan was simple: she’d walk out of the hall they were in and, instead of following the corridor to the toilets, she’d walk out instead and walk home. She figured she wasn’t needed here. 

But, in typical Natsuki fashion, she made a classic blunder. She failed to stick to the walls and walked right through the centre of the ball and, as she did so, passed the beauty that Yuri was so fascinated with.  Usually, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but said beauty turned and bowed a simple bow to Natsuki. 

She stopped dead in her tracks. 

Then, slowly, she turned to face her. Her left foot crawled in front of her right, and she draped her right arm behind her torso. Her left arm made three large circles, rotating away from her face, and Natsuki dragged her body lower and lower in to the bow with each loop she made, never breaking eye contact once. Then, with the bow completed and being fairly sure that she hadn’t made any unacceptable errors, she straightened back up, maintaining the eye contact she had kept for the entirety of the bow. 

“Natsuki,” she said, holding out a hand to shake. She took it with a warm smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The woman was wearing an orange and yellow dress that looked as though it were made out of multiple incomplete layers that combined to form the Sistine Chapel. There were bows and ribbons everywhere, including a gorgeous one in her long, blonde and flowing hair that looked as though it were made of an exotic material that Natsuki couldn’t name. Her dress came to just below the floor and, similarly to Yuri’s, appeared to be held up by some form of hover technology; however, unlike Yuri’s it had no trail. 

“So, uh, do you have a name?” 

“A name?” 

“Well,” Natsuki said awkwardly, “that’s usually how these things go. I mean, I’m not a psychic, so it’d be useful.” She held up her right arm and pointed to her wrist, proving her lack of a Psychic Licence. The woman, much to Natuki’s annoyance, just laughed musically, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“I do apologise, darling, I’m just not used to having to give it out. I’m Hirai Suzuko.” 

“Charmed, I’m sure.” 

There was an awkward pause. 

Well, it was awkward for Natsuki, at least. Looking at Hirai, she seemed to be able to make almost anything look graceful. She looked Natsuki up and down, just once, before breaking the silence. 

“You don’t enjoy these events much, do you?” 

Natsuki was floored. “This is my first time coming to one,” she admitted after a sigh, “and seeing as I’m not allowed to drink I can’t say that being lectured on the economy of Scoria S606 is any better the third fucking time than the first.” Natsuki mentally kicked herself and winced. “Ah, shit, sor-”. She stopped and put a fist up to her mouth. “Sorry.” 

Instead of a sharp stare or a stern reprimand, however, she heard a giggle. “It’s quite alright, I assure you. So, were you on your way to powder your nose or to leave?” 

“Leave.” 

“Well, before you go, might I tempt you with a dance?” She held out her hand, palm up and alluring, and in that moment Natsuki had never felt more conflicted. 

On the one hand, a beautiful woman was standing in front of her asking her to dance. She looked nothing short of a goddess, no matter how much Natsuki tried to resent her for it, with a sparkle in her eyes and quite possibly the only genuine grin in the room. 

However, the angel on her shoulder reminded her that they had come here to get Yuri a partner to replace Victor with. She was a golden ticket; Yuri’s golden ticket, not hers. Yuri, who had ignored Natsuki all night. The thought crossed her mind that she could just forget about Yuri for a night and pretend to be happy with Hirai.  

It was one of those thoughts that's meant to enter your head and be dismissed immediately, allowing you to remain a good and diligent friend. Such a thought should not develop in to a thought that suggested that Natsuki could even pretend that Hirai was Yuri, just for a while. And Natsuki was fairly sure it shouldn't be tainted by jealousy and a faint anger, turning the acceptance of a proposal in to a sort of revenge against Yuri for what felt like her always looking down on Natsuki. 

Yet, here Natsuki was, thinking those thoughts and contemplating those actions, because whichever way you cut it, we all have moments of weakness. None of us are always good and diligent in our thoughts, no matter how much we want to be, as we all have moments of weakness. After all, thoughts are just that: thoughts. 

Yet, when Hirai prompted Natsuki with a grin and a “Well?”, she did not allow them to remain thoughts. 

Instead, she smiled back and took her hand within her own. 

“Sure thing,” she said, smiling through a guilt that was piling up behind her eyes. 

“Just one dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3
> 
> Side-note: I'm going away on holiday soon, so updates might be a bit slow in the near future.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	5. Faculae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I edited the previous chapters slightly. I didn't change much, I just really didn't like the "Dear reader" style of writing. From hereon in, I won't be using it, and I've changed the past four chapters to reflect that.
> 
> Now, with the announcements out of the way...
> 
> Hold on to your butts!

“So, what kind of tea do you drink?”

“I told you,” Natsuki chuckled, slouching back on a mahogany chair. “I’m not much of a tea drinker. But I guess you can make me a cup of Faculae, if you have it.”

Hirai looked up with a faint look of surprise as she signalled to a servant to go and make tea. “Of course. I... didn’t think you’d go for that in particular.”

“You didn’t think I’d fucking heard of it?” A nervous giggle came from Hirai, who was seated opposite her. “Fair enough. A friend of mine likes it.”

Hirai’s house wasn’t as big as Yuri’s but it was nothing to scoff at. After the one dance, Natsuki had been invited back and, for whatever reason, she’d agreed to go. Somehow, though, Hirai managed to avoid awkward small talk by making it interesting. Turns out, she had lived on five different stations, including Station 0A2X, because her Father used to help set up gas siphoning stations on Red Dwarfs, but recently quit. So, he came to Station 0A2X to retire for reasons totally beyond Natsuki’s understanding.

“Must be a rich friend. It isn’t cheap at all.”

Natsuki resisted the urge to comment on how her and Yuri weren’t likely to be friends for much longer as a servant poured the two teas. Hirai had chosen peppermint.

“You can leave us for tonight, Edwin. You don’t have to work tonight.” Edwin looked down in a slight shock at Hirai, but her eyes didn’t leave Natsuki’s. They were at an awkward junction where their eyes had met, and they had both been looking at each other for too long to look away by the time Natsuki realised. She had the cup of tea to her mouth, eyes peeping over the top, as she tried to figure out whether Hirai felt the same sense of awkwardness as she did.

“Edwin?” Hirai prompted, still staring at Natsuki.

“Uh - Of course, mademoiselle.”

Edwin’s feet scurried off out of the room and down multiple halls before they faded out of earshot. Natsuki finally found it in herself to put her cup down and lean back slightly, taking stock of the room. It was a dining room of sorts; knowing how rich she was, Natsuki reckoned it was a smaller one for entertaining genuine friends, not just guests that the upper class felt that they had to impress. There was a mahogany table with four chairs and a beautiful ingrain in to it that mapped their current star system in an ornate, artistic style. The wall behind Hirai had a massive screen inbuilt in the metal wall that was currently displaying a picture of a supernova, perpetually exploding in slow motion without ever being reigned back in. Natsuki’s eyes flicked from the screen back to Hirai.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence, “do you do this to all the strays you pick up?”

Hirai laughed. It was almost an annoying, dainty laugh, but it was so musical that Natsuki couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed at it.

“You make me sound like a predator,” she said, smiling in to her hand.

“Well, I usually at least get a girl’s number before this stage.”

Hirai raised her eyebrows. “Oh? And what stage is that?”

“I - shit,” she muttered as she began to blush. “House. I mean, going to your house. I could just steal anything from here!”  Natsuki’s fingers began tapping the table as she suddenly realised that she had said the worst possible thing. “Not that I would, of course! I’m not a fucking thief, I-”

Hirai stood up from the table and walked around to the seat next to Natsuki. She was sitting sideways, facing her, as she set a hand on top of hers to stop the tapping.

The blush got worse.

“Here,” Hirai said as she leaned in and tucked a business card of some sort in to the top of Natsuki’s dress. “Does that mean you can’t steal from me now? I’m not clued in to the pirate’s code.”

Natsuki looked from the card and back to Hirai’s very, very close face.

“You have fucking business cards?”

“Who doesn’t?” She giggled. “Besides, many people come in to my house who don’t have my number.”

“Who gets your number then?” Natsuki stuttered out.

“Oh, you know,” Hirai began as she moved her hand up to play with Natsuki’s hair. “Business associates, close friends, and people I kiss.”

Natsuki stared at Hirai’s eyes in a slight shock.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” she said, leaning in and kissing her.

The kiss was amazing.

It felt like a firework in an otherwise empty field at the dead of night, when you see something spectacular and then you hear it and then feel it in your very bones as the vibrations shake the floor. It felt like getting in to your bed after a long day and allowing yourself to be enveloped in to the blanket and pillows. It felt like putting on a jumper and getting rid of the chill edge of the night, leaving you at just the right levels of warmth.

Natsuki leant in to the kiss as Yuri grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer, kissing her bottom lip slowly.

Wait, fuck.

And just like that, the uncontainable, uncontrollable wave of emotions turned in to a kid’s paddling pool. They were simply mashing mouths together; Natsuki opened her eyes and saw Hirai’s face, up far too close.

Some things were prettier from a distance.

Natsuki slowly put her hands on Hirai’s stomach in an attempt to push her away. She was gentle at first, which was a mistake, because she didn’t take the hint until she peeled her off of her. Hirai looked in to her eyes, which were clouded by... something. Natsuki couldn’t pin down what.

“I, uh, have to go.”

There was a second of silence as Hirai just blinked at her.

“Pardon?”

“I need to fucking go, right now.” Natsuki stood up and began walking towards the door.

“Wait, please! I - I’m sorry, I can go slower if -”

But Natsuki was already out of the door and running outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
>  
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	6. Seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> In all seriousness, this is the one that warranted the change in fic rating to M. It isn't super descriptive, but if you don't like violence, skip over this bit.

There was a closed public toilet two blocks from Natsuki’s house. Nobody ever went in there, and they were in such a poor part of town that it was never under any threat of being renovated or replaced. There were exactly three stalls, one of which had a lock. Natsuki looked at herself in the cracked mirror before putting her hand under the shelf that held the basins, the metal having long been ripped off by scrappers of some sort. She felt around and shifted some debris until she found a solid, waterproof bag. She took it in to the stall and began to change.

It had a change of clothes in it, which was just jeans and a top. She couldn't afford hiding anything else, in case someone stole the bag. As she changed out of her dress and in to her spare clothes, she began to try and figure out how exactly she was going to store the dress. She had bargained on being able to keep it at Yuri's but...

That wasn’t exactly going to pan out.

After fifteen minutes of elbowing the wall and contorting herself in to various shapes and sizes, she finally came out, fully changed. She looked at herself once more in the cracked mirror, taking a few deep breaths, and left for home.

\-----

“Hey there, champ!”

Fuck.

“Grab me a beer before you head upstairs, will you?”

“Sure thing!”

Natsuki looked longingly at the stairs in front of her before heading past her dad in to the kitchen. It was a small flat: The entrance hall had an armchair facing a temperamental T.V. and a footstool, which Natsuki used as a chair, and the stairs leading up. Past the stairs and behind her father’s chair was the small kitchen, which was a narrow strip of space with a hob, sink and fridge with nothing else. Upstairs just had two rooms: hers and her fathers.

So, Natsuki crept past her father’s chair, putting her bag next to the stairs, and headed towards the kitchen. The only light from the whole house was coming from the T.V., as it was long past sundown. He was watching a bad Sci-Fi film of some sorts with terrible special effects. She opened the bottle on the counter, but the cap flew off and beer began to foam out. She had to hold it over the sink for a second and wipe it down before bringing it to him, hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Cheers, bud. So, you wanna take a seat?” He asked, gesturing to the stool, just to the right of him and slightly in front.

She sat.

“You’re out late, huh?” His attention was off the T.V. now and focused entirely on her.

“Yeah, I went to that party with Yuri, remember?”

“Course I do! So, you score any pussy?”

Natsuki blushed and averted her eyes instantly, trying to look anywhere else.

“Ah, come on Nate. You can tell your old man. Any party should’ve ended well before now. You get invited back anywhere?”

There was a pause before an awkward “No.”

“Huh.” Natsuki’s dad looked at her before lifting his left hand up. It had been slumped over the chair, just out of view, but she could see now he was holding something. “You wanna explain what this is, then?”

Natsuki’s blood turned to ice as her heart started thumping. She almost couldn’t think, her eyes were starting to go as -

“Well?”

“Th- It’s Yuri’s she wanted me to have it as a keepsake, we went to her house after and that’s why I took so long gett-” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth one by one, before she was cut off by a scoff.

“Really? I could’ve sworn Yuri was bigger than that.” There was another pause that was filled with nothing but the screaming of a bad actor as he got shot in whatever film was showing.

“You know, Nate, this kinda looks your size.” Natsuki’s dad looked from the dress to her. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“I-”

“And I can smell two kinds of perfume right now. See, if you had made out with someone, that’d still only be one kind of perfume, right? You see my logic?”

Natsuki could say nothing.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” There was a pause. “Answer me.”

“It’s not what it looks like I just -”

“It’s not what it looks like? Well, what the fuck is it, Nathan?”

The name hit Natsuki like a sack of bricks as she opened and closed her mouth as she failed to find the words.

“This shit isn’t difficult: you’ve got balls. You’re a guy. So, stop with this crossdressing bullshit. Do you understand?”

Natsuki barely held back a sob as she nodded her head once.

“Good. Glad that’s settled.”

Then, he grabbed the dress with his second hand as well and ripped it. It came apart at the seams, the different colours of fabric separating themselves from each other with a loud rip.

Natsuki screamed as though she herself was being torn apart from the seams.

“I thought you understood?” Her father asked as he tore another segment off, tearing the fabric in to strips. "Why do you want this if you get it?"

"Please!” She begged, but he ripped again, and again, and again.

Natsuki continued to shout and he continued to rip.

“No wonder you could afford it! I mean, this is pretty shoddy craftsmanship. It’s just coming apart! I'm doing you a favour, kiddo, and don't you forget it!"

And then, Natsuki came apart. She launched herself at him, desperately grabbing for something, anything that was left of the dress, but her father simply threw her off with one hand and crumpled the remnants of the dress with the other.

“I guess you don’t understand, huh?”

Natsuki sat up, about to grab for the dress again, but she couldn’t. The wind was knocked out of her as a foot slammed in to her stomach, winding her.

If she had been in a better state of mind, she would have figured that it would leave a bruise. She would have realised that she had to stop resisting, or she’d be beaten black and blue. But right now, she had her mind set on one thing: the dress.

“Fuck... you!” She spat, barely getting the words out of her mouth as she gasped for breath. He stopped for a split second and looked down on her.

A foot came crashing down on her knee, straightening it out too quickly before the foot followed through and swiftly hit her stomach again. She couldn't breathe. Natsuki spun over on to her front and tried to stand up, but the cuff of her neck was grabbed and she was lifted up. She lifted her hands behind her head, scratching at the hand and pulling it and trying to leave any mark she could on the man behind her be-

A blow hit her in the side. A solid left hook. She winced, but spun around before he could punch her again. She had never fought back; she didn’t know how. She barely had a plan.

She kicked him in the balls.

He let go of her suddenly and, using the adrenaline coursing through her system, she bounded past him and over the chair, picking up a scrap of cloth as she hurtled out of the door and in to the street. She didn’t stop running, even when the adrenaline faded and her left knee began to hurt from where it had been kicked. She didn’t even stop when Monika called her.

She was there by the time she realised where she was running to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.  
> That happened.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	7. Gravitational Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

There was no rain on Station 0A2X, so when Natsuki began climbing the steps to the front door she was trying to wipe away the tears that had poured down her cheeks with the back of her sweat-covered hand, still holding a ribbon of fabric tight in her other hand. Shakily, she stood at the entrance to the massive double doors and forced herself to knock twice.

She heard the echoes of her knocks travel through the mansion as she waited awkwardly outside until, about a minute later, an older man with an impossibly straight back opened the door up.

“Ah, it’s you.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Well?”

Natsuki shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she forced herself to look Percival in the eye.

“I was, uh, wondering if I could crash here tonight, I -” She barely got halfway through her sentence before Percival began shutting the door on her, a look of absolute indifference on his face.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Wait! I -”

But then she was talking to a closed door. She knocked again, and again, and once more, but there was no reply. Defeated, she slumped her back against the door and rested her head against it, considering her options.

She could always go back to that Hirai person. Well, no, she couldn’t without having to deal with everything that happened. She couldn’t without explaining that Hirai was nothing more than a stop-gap solution for Natsuki’s emotions, which, all things considered, wouldn’t end well. Pissing off a normal person, Natsuki reasoned, would lead to her landing her ass back on the streets. Pissing off a rich person, though, would lead to the street she landed on being demolished for no reason other than spite.

For half a second, she considered going home, but that was dismissed out of hand; she’d never fought back against her father, and didn’t want to figure out the consequences of that just yet.

She could always try and call Monika, or Sayori. She could probably avoid having to explain why she was on the streets, or why she was walking with a limp, but there was a bigger problem on her mind.

Would they hate her?

They had every reason to. Even if Natsuki laid her soul bare, it wouldn’t make her reasoning any better. God, they were going to hate her. But it had to be worth a shot.

So, Natsuki pulled out her phone out of her pocket and brought the cracked holoscreen to life. She had three missed calls off of Monika, she noted with a slight shock and no small amount of apprehension.

If she called Monika now, she’d be chewed out. Why else would she call her?

So, she scrolled down her contacts and called the second-best person: Sayori. She brought the phone up to her ear and let the phone ring as she began running through excuses in her head:

“ _Oh, I’m sorry, I was just getting close to her so I could wingman for Yuri!”_ Bullshit.

“ _I didn’t mean it!”_ Weak.

“ _Hey, I know I don’t deserve it, but I need a place to crash.”_ Too much self-pity.

Natsuki didn’t get a chance to use any of her excuses, though. The phone rang out and, instead of an actual answer, she got the Sayori’s chipper, pre-recorded voice.

“Hey there! I can’t answer right now, so I’m probably eating or sleeping. If you wanna, just leave a message and I’ll listen to it sometime!”

Natsuki forced herself to ring the number two more times, just to make sure that Sayori wasn’t ignoring her, but it rang out both times. She got the same, annoyingly happy voice on the other end of the phone, reminding her that Sayori wanted nothing to do with her.

She couldn’t bring herself to leave a message.

As she stared at the outgoing calls page of her phone, she slowly realised that she did have another option. An option that didn’t force her to face Monika’s disappointment just yet.

She put the phone to her ear as it began to ring again.

“The hellll do you want?”

Natsuki blinked in surprise. Not only had she answered after a few rings, but her voice was slurred. She could almost envision the speaker swaying back and forth, her eyes somehow switching between glassy and hyperfocused and back again within seconds.

“Have you been drinking?”

There was no reply.

“Listen, I...” Natsuki let out a small sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to figure out how to approach the situation.

“Hmm?”

“Can we talk?” Natsuki figured she only needed to get her foot in the door. She could deal with this better face to face, surely?

“We are,” Yuri said, slurring the “are” and almost doubling the length of the word.

“I mean, face to face.”

There was a pause.

“In the dead of night? You wanna get out and in at two in the A.M.?”

“I’m already outside.”

There was a long, monotone beep as the connection cut off and the line went dead. Natsuki had to fight the urge to scream as she hunched forward, scrunching her face up to try and defy the tears that began welling up in her eyes. She figured that Yuri would reject her; she just didn’t realise it would hurt this much, even after expecting it, even after -

And then the door to her left opened up.

Percival looked down at her slowly, and almost as though he would rather be saying anything else, he announced that “The good missus would see her now.”

Natsuki slowly looked up at him, hardly believing what she was seeing through her watery eyes. She stood up, taking her time in no small part because of her fresh bruises, and wiped the forming tears from her eyes. She straightened her back as best she could, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

Percival was no help. He merely closed the door and left Natsuki with her thoughts, which was an awful thing to leave her with. They buzzed around her head like flies around carrion, insisting that Yuri was only doing this because Natsuki deserved to be let down face to face, where it hurt the most, where she had nothing to hide behind if she broke down.

She opened the door in to the living room and had to do a double take.

The room was massive. There was a large, wooden table that took up most of the room, made out of a rich, cherry wood. It looked as though it could have sat at least ten people either side, with two people easily at each end. Above the table and on the wall furthest from Natsuki was a tapestry that spanned the whole of the wall. A man in a formal business suit and short, purple hair was lounging o a love seat, leant back slightly with a cigar in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. Natsuki could only assume it was Yuri’s dad, but she didn’t focus on the tapestry for long enough to figure it out.

On the other side of the table from her, Yuri was pouring a shot. She was hunched over, with one hand firmly on the table, and was pouring what looked to be a bottle of rose flavoured gin in to shot glasses, not even bothering to lift the bottle as she passed over each glass, filling them until the alcohol flowed over the rim and joined the rest of the spillage on the table. There was a slow drip of alcohol, like a metronome, falling from the table and on to the carpeted floor. When the sixth and final glass filled up, she slammed the bottle down on to the table and picked up the first, bending over backwards as she downed it. She started to stagger backwards, but somehow managed to make it so that she fell forwards instead, catching herself on the table again.

“Howdy.”

Howdy?

“Want a shot?”

What the fuck?

“I’m good.” Natsuki had seen enough of what drunk people were like. She didn’t trust herself to get drunk; why should she, given her family history? If she was bad enough sober, why on earth should she let the word experience what she was like drunk? What she -

“What did you want then?” Yuri said, cutting off her thoughts mid-sentence.

“I needed a place to crash. Please.”

Yuri’s head dropped to look down at the table as Natsuki started to look anywhere but at her. The stench of alcohol was almost as overwhelming as the silence.

“Here I was, thinking you’d come to apologise.” Yuri muttered, and as Natsuki looked up, she could see just how tightly Yuri was clenching the chair and the table.

Ah, fuck. “That too.”

“Oh, an afterthought? I’m _fl_ _attered_.”

“No, I -”

“Oh, come on, let’s hear it. What excuse have you got this time?”

Natsuki began to stutter and stumble over her words. She wasn’t used to Yuri being this forward, to her having the confidence to rip her to pieces. Was this what she was feeling all the time? Is this what her politeness left unsaid? Was this what all her friends thought of her? Of course it was. She already knew that, she ju-

“Oh, you’ve got nothing?”

“Yeah, I’ve fucking got something.” Now was not the time to get angry, but Natsuki as barely keeping it under wraps. It would just make her friends hate her more, she knew that, but damn if it wasn’t hard to keep her cool right now.

“I’d love to hear it.”

And, for a second, Natsuki considered telling Yuri the truth. Lying never crossed her mind, but she was tempted to just tell Yuri how much she liked her, how much she wanted to be held in her arms and told everything was going to be okay. But she didn’t. If she was going to tell Yuri, she certainly wasn’t going to tell her now, when she was drunk and angry, to gain the upper hand in a 

“I - There’s someone I like.”

“So you went and slept with another girl because you like someone who isn’t that girl? Smooth move, Miss. Natsuki.” 

“I didn’t sleep with her!” She shouted, almost instantly.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Yuri scoffed. She had still barely moved, leaving the five overflowing shot glasses in favour of staring at the floor.

“I - fuck, Yuri, I just wanted attention.”

“You were attention seeking? You fucked up my chance at getting out of this straight arranged mess of a marriage because you were attention seeking?” Yuri looked up and her eyes bore holes in to Natsuki, who took a step backwards due to the sheer surprise at the amount of anger in them. Yuri had begun to hobble slowly around the table, taking short steps that looked more like a controlled fall before propping herself back up on the table and then falling again.

“Fuck you! I - I just wanted to be with someone! I wanted to know what it felt like to be held by someone, to be with someone who actually wants to be around you! I wanted to feel love, for it to be tangible, for someone to tell me it’ll be alright and fall asleep with me as we lie on a sofa while watching shitty anime! I wanted to live out that dream for half a fucking second, Yuri!”

Natsuki was almost shouting at this point, her cheeks red and tears bubbling out of her eyes, flowing down her cheeks as they began to drip on to her shirt and flow down to the floor. She tried to brush them off with the back of her hand, but as she brushed one away, two more took its place. Yuri stopped hobbling and looked up at Natsuki for the first time.

“Did you?”

There was a half-strangled sob as Natsuki tried to keep what little dignity she had left.

“No.”

Natsuki raised her head and looked Yuri in the eye. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Yuri winced.

“Damn, I can’t -” she muttered, and quickly pulled out a chair and collapsed in to it.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Yuri tried to wave off the questions but, now that Natsuki thought about it, Yuri looked like she’d been through hell. Her hair was all over the place, and she hadn’t seen her support herself without leaning on something.

“What happened to your legs?” Natsuki asked as she began to walk closer.

“Nothing happened to my damn legs,” Yuri spat, and began to lean over the table to reach for a shot. She couldn’t reach, so she began to pull herself up on to the table and drag herself closer to them using her arms until she was finally within reach. It was excruciating to watch, as she winced every time she dragged herself forward. She rolled over, so she was on her back, and grabbed a shot and downed it. Or, at least, she tried to; half the shot went all over her face, missing her outh entirely.

“Bloody gravity.” she muttered, as she began to wipe gin off of her face with the back half of her sleeve. Natsuki just stood there and watched, unable to move as she processed what was happening in front of her. Yuri slammed the shot down on her side and let her head flop to the side, facing Natsuki.

“Hey, Natsuki.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so mean all the time?”

“Wha-”

“You can’t say nice things.” There was a pause as Natsuki tried to process what was being said, tried to come up with an answer, but Yuri ploughed on anyways. “It’s not that you don’t say nice things, you do, but you take them back. All the time. You’re mean and you swear and you’re mean. All the time. Why?”

Natsuki looked down at Yuri’s face, and she didn’t seem angry. She seemed hurt. Confused. Like a toddler who had been told to go to the naughty corner but didn’t understand why.

“I...” Natsuki sighed and pulled a chair out, sitting down so she was eye level with Yuri, who was still lying on the table.

“I’m not so good with emotions.”

Yuri laughed.

“Hey! Fuck you! I’m being honest here!”

Yuri stifled her laugh to a giggle, and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s funny though,” she said, a lilt of humour still present in her voice. “Nobody’s good at emotions.”

“What, so I’m just a dick?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Natsuki went beet red as she put her face in to her hands, her fingers running through her tangled hair.

“Shit.”

“Just... be nice.”

“It’s harder than just being nice,” Natsuki said, muffled by her hands. “You overstep so many boundaries when you’re being nice. You say all the wrong things. You -”

“Nah, you don’t,” Yuri said, cutting Natsuki off and arching her back upwards. “People don’t really care. You’re being nice, after all.”

“I’ll... try.”

“Aww!” Yuri said, reaching out a hand to try and grasp at Natsuki’s face in what she assumed as meant to be a stroke. 

“Hey! No guarantees!” Natsuki pushed the chair back well before Yuri could reach her, and Yuri’s hand just grasped at the air before she gave up and failed at taking another shot.

“There’s, uh, beds upstairs and stuff. Don’t go in to my room. Percival can grab you anything you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Yuri seemed disinterested, and abandoned the remaining shot glasses in favour of the bottle, taking swigs directly from the source. Natsuki, however, was thrilled. She bolted out of her chair upright, but she almost immediately winced and hunched herself over slightly, her hand grabbing her side from pain.

“You should have Percival look at that.”

Natsuki frowned for a split second. Yuri looked almost bored, as though being hurt and unable to walk properly was a normal occurrence, but Natsuki wasn’t about to push her luck and risk losing free medical attention.

“Sure thing. And Yuri?”

Yuri’s head turned again, looking Natsuki dead in the eye.

“Thanks.”

Yuri looked back up to the ceiling and said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take that as you will, but Yuri and Natsuki finally got to interact a little more. A bit of a heart to heart, with a sprinkling of genuine honesty and so, so much self doubt from Natsuki. Bake at 180 for half an hour and you've got yourself a fic, baby! If you find any typos, please point them out to me; I haven't proof read this.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	8. Absorption Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Tags have been updated. Heed them. If you don't like blood or self harm, you might want to give this chapter a miss.

"Why the hell do you know first aid?” Natsuki asked through gritted teeth, wincing at the pain as Percival applied an ointment of sorts to her side. She’d rolled her top up to allow him access to the bruises, and after a quick examination, he’d concluded that she’d be fine in a couple of days. She’d be bruised up, but it could “easily be covered,” he had noted.

He had also avoided telling Natsuki what exactly prompted him to say that.

He also seemed to be avoiding this question. Percival favoured long silences around Natsuki, often glaring at her. She swore the only reason he was doing this was because Yuri had specifically asked him to; after all, he certainly wasn’t being gentle.

“I know more than first aid,” he said, and after some consideration, he added a reluctant “Miss Natsuki.”

“Ok, so why is some sort of certified doctor working as a butler?” She winced again, a hissing escaping her as Percival seemed to dig in to the bruise.

“I’m not certified. Besides, I didn’t know any of this when I began. I learnt on the job, Miss Natsuki.”

“Why the hell does a butler have to know this?” She asked as began to roll down her top. Percival had applied the ointment and finished bandaging her midriff. The box of medical supplies seemed well packed, but at least half of it was taken up by bandages, which seemed excessive to Natsuki. Who the hell needed that many bandages?

“The good missus doesn’t like hospitals.”

“What?” Natsuki looked to Percival for some sign that this was a joke, but he seemed completely serious.

“They ask too many questions,” he continued. Natsuki stayed silent for a few moments, waiting for more explanation, but it seemed there was none.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The only reason I’ve excelled in this job, Miss Natsuki, is that I know when to stop asking questions and keep to myself. I do my job, and that is all that is required of me. Now, go up the stairs and turn right. At the end of the corridor on the second floor is your room. That will be all.”

“Wait! Wh-” Natsuki began, attempting to stop Percival, but he cut her off.

“That will be all,” he asserted firmly, and turned heel and left.

Natsuki sat there for a long time and tried to puzzle out what she had been told. She tried to, tried to look at it from different angles, but no matter which way she looked at it she always came back around to her initial state of confusion. The concept just picked her up and placed her back at the start line, reminding her in an infuriating fashion just how little she knew about Yuri.

So, she resigned herself to thinking about it in the morning, when she wasn’t emotionally raw. Maybe she’d be able to puzzle it out in the morning. So, having accepted her defeat, she walked past the living room to go upstairs.

Yuri was in the recovery position of top of the table. She looked anything but majestic; she was sprawled out on her side with drool cascading down her cheeks and hair everywhere, including strands in her mouth. Natsuki could still smell the gin from across the room, and see the scattered shot glasses behind her, as well as the slow rise and fall of her chest that assured her that yes, Yuri was still alive and hadn’t choked on her own vomit.

That was then she heard someone clear their throat.

It was a woman. Another servant, it seemed, sitting at the end of the table and watching over Yuri, awkwardly wringing her hands. And, it seemed, watching Natsuki watch Yuri.

With a blush beginning to creep up her face, she quickly scampered out of the room and up towards her room.

At least Yuri would be safe.

\-----

Natsuki passed a door on her way up. She didn’t stop, or open it. She just went straight ahead to her own room, which was nondescript and plain. It had a bed, and an empty wardrobe that took up the entirety of a wall, and that was it. It was still bigger than her own room back home, so she certainly didn’t complain as she tried to get to sleep.

Natsuki, of course, had a horrible night’s sleep. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and tried to figure out what had happened today. She felt like her heart had been ripped out of her back, and then put back in to place. She felt as though she couldn’t _feel_ anything more, because that would be far too much feeling to cram in to such a small body over the course of just one day.

Of course, if she had opened the door, she wouldn’t have even tried to sleep.

Behind the heavy, wooden door, was a mess of a room. It was usually clean, but the inhabitant had been drunk tonight. They had dug through drawers, throwing clothes this way and that without a second though as they searched for what they were looking for. Floorboards had been loosened, and locks on display cases had been thoroughly picked. Nothing was to stop them from their goal.

Underneath a banner on the wall that depicted a traditional Japanese tsunami, a collection of knives had been laid out on a desk. It looked as though some effort had been made to straighten them out, but drunken eyes can’t see straight. Which was ironic, because they had never done anything straight in their life anyway.

Well, they could do one thing straight.

She began to glide her fingers over the knives.

The first one was simple. Stainless steel blade, stainless steel hilt, with no colourings or engravings. It was so much more bland than the others in the collection, but it held a lot of sentimental value. They say you never forget a first, and that was certainly true in her case. She even had a memento of it with her on all times, a long scar that ran down the length of her left forearm.

She had been stupid. Careless. But she learnt.

The knife swiveled as she failed to lift her fingers high enough, clumsily landing on the second blade. This was the first one she had been bought, and it was purple and ornate. Beautiful, with an engraving down the blade depicting lavenders growing up it.

She continued to look at her knives. Blue with a tsunami engraving, green with a blade in the shape of a leaf, one with a Celtic braid as a hilt, until she finally rested her fingers upon an appropriate one.

Yes. That would do.

Pastel pink, with a slightly darker hilt, and an engraving of a single rose, thorns and all, climbing its way across the handle and eventually on to the blade.

Oddly fitting.

She picked it up and walked over to the door. She tried to open it, but the chain was one; that was no good. She struggled with the chain, and, in a battle that only a drunken person could describe as “epic”, managed to unlatch the chain, open the door and stumble to the bathroom.

The bathroom lock made a satisfying click as she was isolated once again.

She couldn’t look herself in the eyes, barely catching the glimpses of violet hair in the mirror as she started unstrapping the numerous straps on her purple dress. She barely kept herself from ripping it off, but she had just enough self-control to go through the arduous process of undressing the proper way, letting it slip to the oppressively white floor of the bathroom, followed shortly by the rest of her clothes.

She didn’t want them getting stained.

She clambered in to the bathtub and laid down for a second, nearly closing her eyes. She could sleep, almost, but she had a job to do. She had failed, again. She couldn’t tell whether her friends hated her, which was infinitely more frustrating than them merely hating her. She couldn’t deal with the uncertainty, and the negative emotions that washed over her hadn’t gone away with the alcohol.

They had been amplified by it.

The hatred, which she knew could only stem from selfish self-entitlement, had grown and her self loathing increased exponentially. Ursa Major, if only she could have actually _talked_ to her.

Well, no use wallowing in self pity. Except, of course she was going to do exactly that.

She lifted her leg up and on to the side of the bath. She laughed to herself; it looked too much like a bad advert for some sort of razor, but instead of a razor, a pastel pink knife was held dangerously close to her legs.

With the advent of second skins, there was no real reason to choose where to do this carefully. Not really, but every now and again Yuri would walk about the house without one, and she wanted to avoid the stares. Or at balls, when the pressure was to not wear one.

So, naturally, she had accumulated a graveyard of scars on the tops of her thighs, at the areas that nobody would ever see. They were covered by underwear all the time, and nobody ever saw _that_. God, why would they want to? Even if she didn’t have scars littering her breasts, her hips, she didn’t have the charisma to get anyone in to her pants. Not like Natsuki, who just had to share half a muttered sentence with a beauty before -

She cut herself off from that train of thought unexpectedly, her hand moving down on its own. The knife bit in to her flesh as she slowly dragged it across her flesh, a fountain of crimson blood bubbling out from the river that was left in its wake. The blood ran down her leg and dripped slowly un to the bath, the red defiling the purity of the stark white room.

She couldn’t think. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was yelling at herself. Alcohol thins blood, she was trying to tell herself. You’ll bleed to death, she was screaming, but the pain overcame her as she cut again.

Or was it pleasure?

Who was she to decide?

And again, and again, as she kept slicing in to her own skin and extracting blood. It wasn’t dripping down her legs anymore; it was running, streaming, and she was too far in to her delirium to properly care about blood loss, or how prominent the scars were going to be, or whether she would even be able to stand after she sliced both her thighs in to oblivion.

Until her phone rang.

Once, twice, and then Yuri snapped back to reality. She tried to stand up and reach for it, but her legs gave way. She quickly wiped her hand on a towel as she supported herself on the sink, hunched over, legs still in the bath as she answered the phone?

“The hellll do you want?”

“Have you been drinking?” Natsuki’s voice came through the phone. Damn. What the hell was she meant to say? How did she know?

“Listen, I...” Natsuki continued. She almost saved Yuri from having to talk, but she had no such luck as she trailed off.

“Hmm?”

“Can we talk?”

“We are,” Yuri replied, and flinched at how drunk the “are” sounded. No wonder Natsuki knew.

“I mean, face to face.” Damn. Yuri couldn’t talk like this. Yuri couldn’t even _walk_ like this. What the hell was she meant to do? She tried to crouch down, but ended up falling on to her ass instead. Good enough. She began frantically rummaging through the cabinet, looking for bandages.

“In the dead of night? You wanna get out and in at two in the A.M.?” Even to Yuri, that didn’t make complete sense, but Natsuki seemed to get the gist of it.

“I’m already outside.”

Oh, Ursa Major wanted to punish Yuri today. She started to wrap herself up in bandages, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to work with one hand. She hung up.

It was time to look presentable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two sides to every story, folks.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	9. Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, you get awful poetry. Enjoy.

In Yuri's haste, she had forgotten something.

Just underneath the line of knives, she had left a poem. It was scrawled out drunkenly, and in her haze she had made it in preparation for the literature club. It was never going to find its way there, of course. She'd be put in hospital if it ever did, assigned a therapist, and she couldn't have that.

Not at all.

But, if someone had opened the unlocked door, they would have been able to read it easily. It read:

 

 

**Storms**

 

 

A storm builds in my gut,

But it does not exit

Through the agreed channels,

Which we pretend are taboo.

 

No matter how often

I try, I cannot ride

That surge of climax

Presented in R-rated shows.

 

So I take it in to my own hands.

I dig,

Deep,

Literally in to my own skin

 

And tear it apart by the seams

Letting the storm burst out

In to the only feeling

I know how to feel.

 

My life has become islands,

And I a dinghy that desperately

Claws away from the shelter

In search of the next storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, dear friends, is what not to take to the Literature Club.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	10. Newtonian Reflector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about that call that Natsuki got a few chapters back...

Thankfully, the diner wasn’t busy. Monika wouldn’t have to deal with people bumping in to her shoulder, listening to people slurp at coffees two stalls down whilst trying to filter out fifty different conversations so she could focus on the one at hand.

Sure, she could, but it was tricky when she was this low on juice.

So, she quickly made her way to the corner booth by the window where Sayori was sitting. She quickly scooted in to the bench opposite her, leaning forwards on to the table despite the red, leathery cushions of the seat calling her backwards. It was a fairly nice place; metal walls and tables, with booths and red sofas in each booth. It really lent in to the nostalgic retro vibe of what Terra thought the future was going to be like before they colonised their first planet, with a tacky red planet floating in the middle of the diner, the asteroid belt around it shaking and shuddering every now and again.

“Hey, sorry for the wait. I came as soon as you called.”

Sayori’s head whipped up and looked at Monika. God, she looked as bad as she had sounded over the phone. Both her eyes were red, despite having a black eye forming, and she sniveled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she did so. She had a light scrape on her knuckles, but it had dried and scabbed over and would probably be gone by the next day, Monika reckoned.

“Hey. Sorry for calling you out, I -” Her voice was weak, so it was easy for the waitress to talk over her.

“Good evening and welcome to Martian Munchers! What I can I get you two earthlings today?”

Somehow, she didn’t see that her upbeat demeanor, no matter how fake, was very much out of place.

“Nothing, tha-”

“One hot chocolate, large, with whipped cream and mini marshmallows,” Monika said, cutting Sayori off.

“Sure thing! And would you like chocolate dusting and sprinkles?”

Monika looked down to Sayori and cocked an eyebrow, who in turn looked confused for a spit second before blushing and shaking her head, waving her hands to try and stop the order. 

“No, I’m good! You don’t need to ord-”

“Yeah, we’ll have sprinkles and chocolate dusting.”

“Alright, coming right up!” The waitress walked away as Sayori just stared down at the table. She’d clasped her hands to stop them from shaking, and they were now pressed up against the cold, metallic table.

She shouldn’t have let that happen.

She’d called out her friend, at the dead of night, to meet her for no good reason and now she was out of pocket. She should do something. She should do anything. Even just talking to her would prove that she appreciated her existence, but apparently she wasn’t even capable of that. Not even a smile, she couldn’t even keep up the bubbly façade. She couldn’t put on her damn mask and now Monika would see who she truly was and that wasn’t going to be good for her.

Because Monika would hate her.

Monika would hate her, just like she hated herself. Monika would tell the others, naturally, and of course they’d have to take her word over hers. She’d be kicked out of the literature club and would have no friends, and she’d either live out the rest of her school days alone, not talking to anyone, or she’d have to -

She managed to reel herself in from that train of thought, but the negative energy just built up like a flood behind a dam and spilt in to a second thought:

This was selfish.

She was being selfish right now. People had been through worse than what she’d done tonight and just gotten back up. Besides, the thoughts circling her mind about friends were selfish, and wanting their attention was selfish, and wanting them to be friends with her was the most selfish because she of all people shouldn’t be allowed to control other people’s emotions like they were puppets and -

“One hot chocolate!” The waitress said, cutting through Sayori’s thoughts whilst she put the drink down in front of her. Had she been wallowing in self-pity for that long? It was in a tall, metal cup, and it had a mountain of whipped cream on it, with marshmallows adorning it like boulders and the chocolate circling up to the peak like a mountain trail.

It was too much to accept.

Sayori began to protest, but... It was food. And it looked so, so nice, and rejecting it was also rude, right?

So, she tentatively took the straw in one hand and began to scoop out whipped cream, eating it, and it tasted gorgeous. So, one scoopful turned in to two, which turned in to four and then eight, and then the whipped cream was gone. She peeked her head over the rim, looking down at the chocolate and feeling the heat wash over her face.

This was too good.

“I, um. Sorry for calling you out.”

“It’s alright.” And what’s more, Monika sounded like it was no more than being asked to go down the shops and buy milk, giving Sayori a reassuring smile.

“I would’ve chosen somewhere a little nicer, but this is right across from the police station and I -”

“Sayori, it’s _fine._ There’s no need to worry. So, do you want to talk about it?”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“Yeah, I do.” And suddenly, Sayori couldn’t make eye contact, instead looking out of the window and on to the street. There was a drunk, zig zagging and stumbling his way across the dull, metal pavement. He eventually came to a stop, slumping against the wall of the police station, sliding down so that he put his arm across an uncomfortable-looking beggar, trying to strike up what she assumed was meant to be a casual conversation.

“I...” How did she start this?

“I went to a club. After the ball, after we all said we’d go home, I went to a club. It was called Impact Event. It, uh, had these fog machines but the fog was warm and the drinks were warm as well, and not in the good way. Anyway, I only had half of a drink, so I wasn’t that drunk, I had Magellanic Clouds – you know, the ones that come in a pair? So, I’d drunk one of them, and Love Cats by The Cure was playing, so I was already in that mood, and...”

Sayori paused for a moment, seemingly out of breath, as she started tapping her foot. Monika had said nothing, just nodding and making the right facial expressions to show that yes, she was still listening and interested.

Why was she so good at this?

“Anyway, I was about to start drinking the second half of my Magellanic Clouds, the smaller one, and I heard this guy behind me. He was getting angry at this woman, saying that she’d only rejected him because she was, well, you know.” There was a pause as Sayori tried to find it in her to quote him, but she couldn’t. She took a moment to swallow instead as her knee continued bouncing, faster and faster.

“Anyway, I couldn’t stand there and listen! I turned around and saw this guy was a big dude. Beefy, polo top, chinos, military haircut and needs a mint – you know the type. Anyway, she’s cornered in this corner with this guy who’s getting angry at her so what could I do! I said, hey mister! You can’t talk to her like that! And he turns around and he’s all like get out of my face, and...”

She stopped. And, she decided to be selfish. No, she shouldn’t lie; but Monika would hate her if she didn’t.

“He punched me and then I woke up in a jail cell.”

Monika sat and nodded as Sayori desperately tried to find something worth looking at that wasn’t Monika’s eyes, which, despite being pretty and beautiful, Sayori couldn’t bring herself to look at. Not now. Not when she had not only asked Monika to come all the way out and then lied to her.

“You can tell me the truth, you know,” Monika said after a substantial pause and a hefty sigh. Sayori jumped in her seat, and finally made eye contact, her surprise overriding any fear she had. Monika didn’t look accusatory, though. She looked comforting.

“What do you mean?” Sayori chuckled awkwardly.

“You’ve got a scrape on your knuckles, Sayori. You hit something.”

“He hit me first!”

“Once. He floored you. Just look at your eye; there’s no signs of being hit more than once, and you’re not sitting awkwardly to compensate for any injures that’d be covered by your second skin. You hit him first, right?”

Sayori said nothing. All she could think about was how Monika saw through her bullshit and was going to hate her now, she w-

“Don’t worry. I would’ve done the same thing, if I could. I just want you to know you don’t have to lie.”

“When’d you turn in to Sherlock, Miss?”

They both giggled for a moment, Sayori sipping her drink again.

“Yeah, I punched him first,” she admitted.

“You know, it’s kinda honourable when you think about it. Defending Yuri without her even being there.”

Sayori looked down at her hands and moved them, twisting them one way around the rim of the cup and back again. Her thoughts began to bubble up, the unhappy ones, and she almost laughed it off and agreed, but for some reason she couldn’t. Not anymore. And, despite the voices in her head screaming at her to do anything but tell the truth, she did.

“I, uh, didn’t do it because of Yuri,” Sayori said, stuttering awkwardly as she forced herself to talk.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, in part I did. He was being a right meanie, but really, I was going to end up getting in a fight by the end of the night. I was in that kind of mood, you know? I knew I couldn’t win a fight, I just wanted to get my ass handed to me. And I know that’s sorta – I know that isn’t right. I know that’s weird and messed up but after what happened at the ball I just felt like I’d failed and kinda deserved it at that point, right? And -”

“Sayori,” Monika started, but she was on a roll. There was no unbaring of Sayori soul.

“And that’s not even the worst bit, Monika! I wake up in a police cell and they ask me a few questions, tell me I was in the right and I leave so I call Dad, right? I mean, who else am I going to call? And I tell him what happened, that some guy hit me in a club and I was knocked out and he said oh, that’s a shame, honey. And then? Nothing else. I asked him if he could come pick me up from the _police station_ and,” Sayori said, tears forming in her eyes, “he said why don’t you just take a holocab, honey? He even said that it didn’t matter if I had no money because he’d pay for it. He didn’t get it!”

At this point, Sayori was sobbing loudly, her head in the crook of her elbow, flat against the table. She’d expended all her emotions, it seemed, and was reduced to a blubbering mess, repeating the phrase “he didn’t get it!” in more and more incoherent forms.

Monika just sat there and let her cry. It was at least a minute beffore she could even think of anything to say, let alone muster the courage to say it.

“Sayori.”

She looked up from her mess of an arm. She was still wearing the dress from the ball, but it was scruffed up with black marks from where she had fallen, and her hair was all out of place. 

“I want to be able to help you, but I’m not a doctor.”

“What do y-”

“If you’re struggling with self-harm, you need to speak to a therapist.”

“I’m not struggling with self-harm! That’s like when you...” she trailed off, and lfted her left arm, drawing a finger across her forearm in a cutting motion. “You know?”

“You got in to a fight that you knew you would lose to punish yourself for something that was entirely out of your control. That sounds like self harm to me.”

“Listen, even if I did need a therapist... I’ve tried.”

“You’ve what?”

Sayori shrunk under Monika’s surprised expression, shuffling back and forth in her seat.

“I told Dad I wanted one. He said I didn’t need one, didn’t have anything to feel depressed about,” she mumbled.

“Ursa Major.”

“Yeah. Hey, Monika, I know I asked you to call the others when I called you, but could you do me a favour and not tell them about this? If I do tell them, I want them to hear it from me.”

“Of course.”

Sayori finished her hot chocolate as Monika sat in silence. She was doing a special kind of math, a social sort of math, as she desperately tried to figure out if she could say what she wanted to, offer what she felt needed to be offered. And, eventually, despite all of the reasoning telling her no, she did so anyway.

“Hey, Sayori. If you didn’t want to go back to yours, you could always crash at mine for a bit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Monika nodded, standing up to leave.

“You can stay as long as you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what to put at these end notes, other than the usual comments are my lifeblood and that I could really go for one of those Hot Chocolates that Sayori had.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	11. Debris Disk

Sayori took in the neighborhood while Monika thanked the android who had driven them there in the holocab.

It was _normal_. Suburban. Just like her street, the houses were all cookie cutter replicas of each other, but unlike her street, they were all painted a white colour that somehow avoided being either vibrant or dirty. She would have no idea how to tell any of the houses apart if she didn’t have Monika leading her to the right house.

Monika tapped her wrist against the lock and the door opened up, standing ajar as she pushed her way inside.

“I’m sorry it’s a little messy,” Monika began with an awkward chuckle, “I don’t usually get any visitors of any sort.”

Sayori could see what she meant. It was perfectly dusted and everything was in its respective place, even if there was a notable absence of knick-knacks on shelves that you would expect any suburban mother to keep. The living room, however, was a mess of wires. There was a sofa facing a large television, which was playing an older version of the movie "Pinocchio". The glow of the television illuminated just how many wires there were between the sofa and it; there were wires, metal plates and electrical components that Sayori couldn’t even begin to name scattered across the floor, going over an ottoman that looked to be doubled up as a footstool.

There was a half-finished creation sitting in the middle of the components, but Sayori certainly couldn’t tell its purpose. It seemed like an arm bracer of some sort, like the kind worked in to second skins that acted as I.D., but it was very much not in a second skin, with dangerous looking wires pulled out of various sections of metal.

Behind the sofa, however, was an organised bundle of wires. It was many thinner wires of varying colours wrapped and twisted like a rope to the point where it was far about as thick as her waist. This was plugged in to the wall, it seemed, but it didn’t get thinner; instead, the plasterboard had been ripped off and it seemed to be connected to the main power supply grid, somehow. Somewhere in the back of Sayori’s mind, she was pretty sure it was illegal, but she was far more concerned with the other side of the wires. They were connected to what looked like a metallic collar, with a clasp that closed and opened.

“Hey, Monika? What’s... that?” Sayori asked, pointing to the collar, which was currently resting on the middle cushion of the sofa. Monika stopped dead in her tracks and stared at it, almost as though she were seeing it for the first time.

“Uuh,” she started, buying herself some time, “That... is... a, you know, um. Relay.”

“A relay?” Sayori asked, throwing Monika a disbelieving look.

“It’s for big charges. Some of my... work requires a lot of electricity. It just so happens to be the most efficient way to get that.” Monika replied, picking up the collar and beginning to coil the thick wires up. “Anyway, -”

“So why does it have a collar?” Sayori asked. She was in no place to judge, of course, especially not after earlier, but the implications were unsettling, to say the least.

“Oh, this old thing?” Monika said, failing to be nonchalant, “This isn’t a collar. It, uh, wraps around the batteries.”

“Batteries?”

“A lot of the equipment I play with is old and archaic so, yeah, they still use batteries.”

“Oh.” Sayori was not convinced in the slightest, especially with the way Monika’s eyes kept on glancing around, taking in the surroundings. Had she just forgotten she’d left them out? Does she really not have that many visitors?

“So, uh, do you have beds, or do you just sleep on wires?” It was a weak joke, but Monika laughed far too much. 

“No, I sleep!”

There was a pause as Sayori stood awkwardly, looking around at the room.

“Oh, right! Upstairs, to the right. At the very end. It’s a guest bedroom.”

“Thanks. Do you mind if I go to bed now? I’m exhausted.”

“Sure thing! I’ll stay up for a little longer, but I’ll be sleeping too, don’t worry!” Monika was still crouched by the wire, and just finished coiling it. She quickly moved over to the space in front of the sofa and started arranging all of the parts, almost as though she were desperate to get them packed away.

Sayori figured it was rude to pry any more, even if she didn’t believe a word Monika was saying, so she just thanked her and went upstairs. Now that she was out of the living room, everything went back to being eerily normal. There continued to be a lack of questionable art or pottery made in kindergarten. It seemed they were in a realm where macaroni art was illegal, and the only acceptable interior design was the oppressive, bland white.

This continued in to the guest bedroom, which was, again, a cookie cutter guest bedroom. There was a bed, with a grey quilt and pillow, a metal desk with a metal chair and a metal wardrobe. Sayori realised she’d have to redact what she had previously thought about the interior design. Two colours, were in fact, allowed: white, and grey for a splash of colour.

Sayori shook her head, almost as though to dispel the thoughts. She was doing it again.

She had to think happy thoughts.

So, she fell down on the bed and rested her forearm over her eyes as she tried to be happy.

So, she had told Monika about her... bad thoughts. That had happened. Which was a mistake, obviously, because she forced Monika to feel as though she had to open her house up to her and now she was clearly making Monika feel uncomfortable enough to lie about what she was doing downstairs, which is exactly why all of her friends hate her, and -

Sayori stopped herself, snorting aggressively out of her nose. She wasn’t doing this again.

Happy thoughts.

And that’s how Sayori spent her night. She thought of butterflies, and rainbows, and other thoughts which quickly became corrupted by self-loathing and hatred and doubt, only to have the slate be wiped clean and start again.

And again.

And again.

\-----

On the other side of town, Natsuki slowly opened her eyes, and was instantly bombarded by an assortment of different, contradictory feelings.

For one, her side ached and her knee hurt, but the bed she was lying on was so much comfier than hers. Why was it that beds were always comfier when they were someone else's?

Then, she was hit by the realisation that she still had to deal with Yuri. So, she lay in bed for a little while longer, looking at the star chart painted on to the ceiling, trying to figure out how she was going to approach this.

She could act like nothing happened, but that would be a dick move.

She could thank Yuri for her hospitality, which would be the right thing to do, and apologise again. But she also wanted to ask to stay longer; she wasn’t sure if she could go back to her place. But that would weaken any thanks she gave, because it would seem like she was only giving them to be able to stay at Yuri’s for longer.

Or, she could just bite the bullet, thank Yuri for her hospitality, and leave.

And then what? Sleep on the street? How was she going to get food? Sure, she could scavenge, but that had always been supplemented by her Papa’s food in the past, even if that supplement was meager.

Ah, fuck.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to get anywhere with this puzzle while she desperately needed to piss. So, she resigned herself to getting up, and slowly moved her aching limbs off of the bed and stood up. Slowly.

It wasn’t so bad. After the first few steps, the pain turned in to a dull ache, and after a few more she almost forgot about it, even if she did have to limp. And, besides, the limp was almost subconscious.

So, all things considered, Natsuki felt pretty good about herself by the time she hobbled to the bathroom and opened the door.

\-----

Yuri started awake. She propped her torso up by her hands, but her right hand found nothing but air, and then she was falling. She hit the floor with a resounding thump, thanking the stars that she had managed to avoid any damage to her face by catching herself with her left arm.

Her arm hurt, but that was because she had fallen.

Her legs hurt, but that was to be expected.

Her head hurting, though, was an entirely new sensory experience. She slowly tilted her head, as though to get rid of it, before a shout spread through the house again.

Oh, right.

Yuri had woken up because of a shrill scream. The “What the fuck” that followed, however, meant that it hadn’t been from pain but from confusion, so nobody was hurt. Probably. Yuri sighed to herself and let her head rest in her arms, face down on the floor.

All things considered, it was nothing to worry about. Natsuki had probably just found the blood in the bathroom from her cutting session last night.

Yuri’s head suddenly sprung up, and it felt like someone had just thrown a tennis ball inside of it at full speed, letting it bounce of the insides of her skull a thousand times as she was reminded of her actions last night.

Oh, Ursa Major.

Natsuki had found the blood in the bathroom from her cutting session last night.

Yuri forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her thighs, her knuckles as white as bone as she lifted herself up and began half hobbling, half dragging herself to her destination. She was going as fast as she could manage, in between the lines of pain on her legs, threatening to reopen at any moment from the stress she was putting them under, and her head, which felt as though somebody was slowly tghtening a clamp around it.

She got to the stairs. Why were there so many stairs? At least there was a handrail to be thankful of, she managed to think as she dragged her way up.

She needed to think of what she was going to say.

She needed to be able to explain exactly why there was blood splattered all over the bath, and on the floor, because Natsuki would do something if she didn’t. She didn’t know what she would do, but Yuri knew it would be bad. She might tell the literature club not to be friends with Yuri, or might try and call a doctor, or any other number of things that Yuri hadn’t factored for. She sure as hell couldn’t think of all of the possibilities in this state.

Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t think of a solution. She wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t have one, or because of the hangover, or the distracting pain in her thighs, but she couldn’t think of single thing. All she could do was drag herself to the bathroom in sheer, bloody-minded determination.

She did get there eventually. She turned the corner, and, on the other side of the hallway was Natsuki.

And she looked horrified.

She was standing with her arms against the door, leaning back in to it as though to keep it shut, as though someone was trying to break out of the bathroom. A look of confusion and horror and disgust was on her face, and as soon as she saw Yuri she could have sworn that a tinge of fear came on to that face for just a split second before it was replaced by a shaky, and quite obviously fake, smile.

It was then that Yuri realised that she was certainly not helping things. Hungover, smelling of alcohol and quite disheveled, she was hunched over and grasping at the wall with one arm, almost like a feral animal. It hit her that if she had just acted nonchalant, Natsuki might have ignored the situation, but she had drawn attention to it now by rushing upstairs as fast as she could.

She opened her mouth to apologise, to say something, anything, but Natsuki beat her to it.

“Sorry about freaking out! I was just surprised. It’s just my periods never get that bad!” Natsuki said with an awkward chuckle.

Yuri closed her mouth and blinked once, very slowly.

What kind of dumbass would think that that was from a period? How stupidly unobservant did you have to be to look at the blood, none of which was in the toilet, and decide that it was from her period? H-

And then Yuri realised something.

Natsuki had given her a perfect out. After what had happened last night, Natsuki thought she was riding on thin ice, surely? Even after the apology, she didn’t want to jeopardise things, so she was willing to let this one slide, surely?

Yuri nodded quickly, then clutched her head with her hand, and then tried to nod again, but slower.

“Uh, yeah. I have a medical condition -”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense now, -”

“Yeah it makes periods super bad for me.”

“Oh! I guess that explains the walking last night, and -”

“Yeah!” It gets bad sometimes.”

They both nodded slowly and awkwardly. The silence hung in the air for a second before Natsuki cleared her throat.

“Do you, uh, have another bathroom?” She asked, her eyes darting around the hallway.

“Oh! Of course! Try the third floor, on your left.”

“Thanks.”

Natsuki hurried past Yuri, limping slightly as she did so. Yuri didn’t turn her head to look at her as she walked past, instead staring intently at the door handle, cursing her own negligence. Similarly, Natsuki didn’t look at Yuri, focused on the floor and her shoelaces, until she got to the stairs. With one hand on the banister, she stopped and looked back at her.

“Hey Yuri?”

Yuri’s head perked up as she twisted herself around to meet her eyes, awkwardly rearranging her hands so that she was still supported by the wall to the point where her body was resting against it.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

And with that, Natsuki rushed upstairs, a slight blush dusting her cheeks.

\-----

Yuri came downstairs for breakfast an hour later, two headache-relief tablets in hand and ready to try and start off a conversation with Natsuki that wasn’t horrendously awkward. However, when she came to the table, Percival had to inform her that, regrettable, Miss Natsuki had already taken leave ad had left the premises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please comment! Even if it's just a single letter, it really doesn't have to be the length of the bee movie script!  
> Also R.I.P. Natsuki, female anatomy is hard.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: Just so you know, I 100% channelled the "shake your head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of intrusive thoughts" meme while writing Sayori


	12. Precession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac Newtons third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Or, as I like to call it: for the fluff, I gotta put a little dash of angst in there. Just a touch, to season the pot. Enjoy!

Sayori had been awake for half an hour and had hated every minute of it.

She was just lying there, and she didn’t want to be a part of the real world yet. She wanted to go back to sleep, where at least her own damn mind wasn’t trying to get her killed or make her hate herself. But she was awake, well and truly, even if she didn’t open her eyes. 

Last night kept replaying in her mind like a broken record, highlighting her mistakes in fluorescent yellow markers and grading her with red pen. But, as she began mulling on her mistakes, she groaned and rolled over, actively trying to stop herself from going in circles.

Yes, she may have forced Monika to worry about her and invite her in to her home, but Monika wouldn’t have done any of that if she didn’t care about Sayori. And yes, the stuff downstairs with the collar looked super weird, but Sayori hadn’t been murdered yet, right?

Besides, if she died, who would care? Certainly not her.

Sayori sat bolt upright, almost as though she could retroactively destroy the thought if she moved fast enough. _No_. That was not alright, even if it was true.

So, she got out of bed and walked to the door, opening it and wandering downstairs.

“Monika?” She called, coming to the bottom of the stairs. The living room looked remarkably cleaner. There was no longer screws and bolts scattered across the floor, and she wasn’t in danger of tripping over any wires. The massive bundle of cables with the collar was still attached to the wall, but it had been coiled up, like a hempen rope, so that it was easy to step over and no longer had to be ducked under to get past the behind of the sofa.

All in all, it looked a lot more normal.

“Good morning!” Monika called back, poking her head out from the kitchen door. “Wait there a second!” There was a rummaging, before she came back out with a pile of clothes, all folded up neatly.

“There should be jeans, a belt, and a plain white T-shirt in here. That’s kind of a classic, go-to look that works for everyone, it’s just I’m not sure if it’d be your size. I figured you wouldn’t want to keep wearing that blue dress of yours, especially after you slept in it!” Monika dropped the bundle in to Sayori’s arms before she even had a chance to protest, smiling eagerly at her. She had bags under her eyes, and looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink, but other than that, she seemed genuinely happy.

“Um, thank you?” Sayori said. “Where’d you get these?”

“Oh, they’re mine!” Monika replied, smile unflinching.

“Oh! Thank you!” Sayori’s face was beginning to burn up at the implication of wearing Monika’s clothes, but she seemed unfazed as ever. Monika made no move to do anything, so Sayori cleared her throat slightly.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“Oh, of course! It’s just upstairs, second door on the left.”

The jeans weren’t Sayori’s size. She had to raise the cuff on them slightly, and tighten the belt up, but otherwise it was passable. The T-shirt, similarly, was too big. That was both good and bad, she found; good, because it covered the impact of the belt on the jeans, but bad because the “fitted jeans and plain tee” look that Monika was going for was obviously ruined. Which, in all actuality, wasn’t at all surprising, but still a disappointment to her. Brushing her hair helped a little, but not all that much. She resigned herself to putting her signature red bow in it and calling it a day.

When she came down the steps, though, she was greeted by a round of applause from Monika, along with a “Whoo!”

Sayori blushed and tried to be anywhere else. It felt so fake, so put on, so dramatic, so -

“My killer outfit wins the day again!” Monika announced in a deep, game show host voice.

Oh. Suddenly, the praise felt more... natural. Easier to accept. After all, she was praising the outfit, not her, so -

“With the star model, currently the undisputed best this side of Fomalhaut, Sayyyyyyori!”

That was slightly harder to swallow, but strangely enough, still doable, even if Sayori was blushing.

“Gosh, this isn’t a catwalk. It’s just your stairs,” she giggled. Monika shrugged and walked over to the sofa, putting her hands on the back of it and leaning forward slightly.

“So, what’re your plans for today? I’ve got none, so I’m easy.”

“Well, let's deal with breakfast first, and then we’ll get on to the more complicated plans.”

Monika’s face fell for a split second, but it was so quick that Sayori had to second guess herself, doubting it ever happened, but when Monika chuckled awkwardly she was sure that it must have.

“Oh, for sure! I know a really good café near here if you want something sweet, or if you want a full, Hanskya type meal there’s another place that does the bet I’ve tasted for a good price. I mean, it’s on me, so that doesn’t matter, but hey!”

“Nah,” Sayori replied, waving off the suggestions, “I’m easy. I’ll just have, like, toast or cereal or something, or failing that I’ll buy nutrient paste from your Dispenser. What do you have?”

Monika looked back to the kitchen for a long moment, before turning back to Sayori and looking back again. “Are you, uh, sure? I mean, it’s no hassle t-”

“It’s ok!”

Monika breathed in a sigh and walked in to her kitchen. There were plenty of cabinets, Sayori noted, but the one that was open was full of computer parts. That must have been where all the clutter went from last night.

Monika reached up to open a cupboard, right at the end of the row.

“So, let's see what we have,” She said as she started pulling things down from the cupboard, lining them up on the side one by one.

“I’ve got rice. A decent amount of rice.” She stopped and nodded for a second as she pulled down a large, unopened bag of rice, setting it on the side. “We’ve got pasta, as well, but not as much of tha – Wait, no, that’s got Mirhols in it. I’ll have to throw that out. I’ve got a can of – wait, three cans of peaches, which I guess could go with rice, as well as, um, whatever’s in this unlabelled can. That’s it.” She turned around to look at Sayori.

“Fancy giving this mystery can a go?”

Sayori, for the most part, wasn’t sure whether was trying to stop herself from giggling by putting a fist in her mouth, but Monika’s last statement made her lose it.

“How do you live? Do you just eat nutrient paste?” She managed to ask breathlessly, hunched over from laughter.

“I, uh, actually don’t have Dispenser.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Monika looked sheepish, but Sayori looked like she couldn’t care less about the legality of the situation, instead trying to recover from her laughter.

“I mean, yes, but when they installed it, it had to be ripped out for my charger. It was the only port that was required a large enough current to be keyed in to the main grid, so that massive cable that comes out of the wall is where that used to be.”

“How haven’t they caught you? Surely they should have noticed that there’s just nothing from your house?”

“It was taken out before the system actually booted up. So, they can’t miss input from what they don’t have.”

“What did you do with the parts? Don’t they have a reader lens inside them? Which, again, is super illegal to possess if you don’t have a license?”

“Well, firstly, it’s not _super_ illegal. It’s a slap on the wrist at most. First time, anyway. But yeah, it got reworked in to some device or the other.”

“So now instead of the government being able to tell your vitals and know your personal info every time you walk past the dispenser, _you_ get to know it all?” Sayori teased, walking up to be beside Monika, picking up the mystery tin and putting it back.

“Hey! You’d need to be connected to the government database to get personal information and stuff like that. But yes, if I used it, I could conceivably read someone’s vitals. I... misplaced it though,” Monika replied, sheepishly putting the rice back up in the cupboard.

“You lost it? How? That sounded awesome!”

“If I knew how, I’d be able to find it! Anyway, what did you want to do about breakfast?”

“Oh. Yeah. That. I guess we could go to a café? But I don’t have money...” Sayori said as she put the last tins in to the cupboard, closing the door.

“Like I said, it’s on me. I’ve got funds.”

“Funds?” Sayori asked, her voice pitching towards the end out of curiosity.

“Yeah. Funds. How do you think I live here alone? I got left a ton of money.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Sayori said, looking down at her shoelaces as she cursed herself for ruining another fun conversation. Why did this always happen?

“What for?” Monika asked, looking genuinely confused for a moment.

“I mean,” Sayori started as she wondered how she was going to phrase this. She didn’t want to be insensitive, but she also didn’t want to confuse Monika.

“Dead parents?”

Su-fucking-perb. Absolutely nailed it.

Monika, however, didn’t take that too well. She was far too polite to show it, but her face became downcast as she shook her head.

“No. I mean, they are dead, I think, but. I don’t think it’s from them. I get money every month, so it can’t be.”

“You... think?”

Sayori was suddenly very aware of how she shouldn’t pry.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry, I ju - “ Sayori began to backpedal.

“No, it’s fine. You bared your soul to me, it’s fair.” Monika paused, taking a breath. “I was... in a crash.” Sayori waited for Monika to continue, but that seemed to be all she was willing to say. She was focusing on the sheer metal of the side, tapping her fingers across it at a pace that seemed to be getting faster, the clicks the only noise filling the hollow room.

Sayori knew it was selfish to want more. Just because Monika listened to her didn’t mean she was willing to share, and she was really being pushy with what she needed over the past few days. No, that was wrong; she was being pushy with what she _wanted_. She didn’t need Monika’s help. She was just being selfish again and making her friends feel awful so that she could feel slightly better, even though she’d been shouldering her pain for as long as she could remember.

And yet.

She stood there, with Monika’s breathing becoming faster, and shallower, and even though her eyes were dry she could tell Monika was in pain. She had to do something, anything, and letting Monika know that she could talk to her had to be worth something, right?

Even if she was just justifying her shitty, intrusive behaviour.

“A... crash?” Sayori asked, her heart racing as a shard of ice formed in the bottom of her gut, frost spreading upwards as dread began to consume her.

“Yeah," Monika nodded. “I don’t remember a lot. It might be because of the surgery, or because of the crash, but all I can really remember is that I’ve lived here since I was... fifteen?” She was talking slowly, picking her words out carefully, but Sayori gave her time to finish. There was another gap, but this one was less uncomfortable. Monika had stopped tapping her nails, and her breathing had steadied, it seemed.

“Alone?”

“Yeah. Alone.”

“Well,” Sayori began, hesitating slightly, “I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

Monika just nodded, a half-strangled thanks coming out of her throat before she cleared it, straightened her back and then looked to Sayori. If it weren’t for the warm smile and twinkle of friendship in her eyes, she never would have known that she had been on the verge of breakdown just a minute ago.

“So, how about that breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Relatable.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	13. Shopping, but it's super futuristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote 4000 words of shopping.  
> You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worldbuilding? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

“Greetings, Nathan Higashi. How may I be of service?”

The words blinked up at Natsuki as she curled her hand in to a fist, which was pressed up against the wall as she leaned over the Dispenser. She hated this part.

“You appear distressed. Perhaps you would benefit from one dosage of Benzodiazepine, priced at an eighth of a Briinar?”

“Yeah, no. I’m good.” Natsuki replied through gritted teeth, staring down at the display monitor as though she could kill it if she just stared at it hard enough. The lens was in a small, black dot, just above the monitor, that held the Reader that was currently reading her vitals. She knew, deep down, that avoiding eye contact with it wouldn’t help at all, but somehow she still couldn’t bring herself to look directly at it.

“How may I be of service?”

“I’d like a ration of nutrient paste, a ration of protein and a ration of carbohydrates,” she mumbled, even though there was no-one nearby. It was more habitual at this point, as though taking what was offered to you was somehow shameful. That was part of why Natsuki made sure she was alone before using the machine; the other reason was in case anyone read over her damn shoulder.

“You are entitled to: Seven servings of nutrient paste a week; three servings of protein squares a week; three servings of carbohydrate squares a week; one square of chocolate a week. You currently have: One serving of nutrient paste; one serving of protein squares; one serving of carbohydrate squares. This will reset tomorrow, on Monday. Are you sure you would like to withdraw: One serving of nutrient paste; one serving of protein squares; one serving of protein squares?” The Dispenser rattled through its list, naming each and everything thing that Natsuki could take and had already taken, as though to drive home the desperation of her situation.

“Yeah.” There was no point trying to hold a conversation: she knew she could either agree, or disagree, and there was no point in trying to confuse the machine.

“Before I dispense your allotted rations, please answer a quick question.”

Natsuki groaned. She really wasn’t in the mood to answer a survey or questionnaire, but it wasn’t as though she had a choice.

“This is not your usual Dispenser, nor is it within a half an hour walking distance from your residence. Have you changed residence, or are there any circumstances in your personal life that the Station should be notified of?”

Oh, fuck.

“No,” Natsuki lied, trying to keep it simple. She just needed to get through this, and then she could eat. The faster she did this, the less likely the machine would pick up on any untruthfulness.

“Please confirm.”

“Confirm.”

 “Please use full confirmation.” Natsuki swallowed, her fist becoming tighter and her knuckles turning white.

“I, Nathan Higashi, confirm that I have not changed my residence.” The name felt like bile in her throat, burning as she was forced to say it. It was physically making her ill down to the stomach, as though she might be sick, but she’d had the sensation before and she knew she would sure as hell have it again. She just needed to muscle through this.

“Untruthfulness detected. Please explain.”

“Maybe it’s because you refuse to let me use my chosen fucking name,” Natsuki growled. A pit of ice was forming at her stomach, and her eyesight blurred for just a second before she steadied her breathing.

“Please refrain from aggressive language or behaviour. Continuation to threaten the Dispenser will result in your ration being taken away. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“If you would like to update your name and gender, both can be edited on Station systems for just ten Briinar each.”

“I can’t afford that,” she muttered. She’d read that screen a thousand times, but she’d done the maths.

Minumum wage was a Briinar and a quarter a day, to be paid in to your account every day of the week, even on the days you didn’t work, which was important because the Station only allowed you to work four out of seven days. The cost of living was supposed to be a Briinar a day. The theory that they were taught in school is that everyone could have a healthy standard of living, as you could afford the essentials and a little bit on top, especially with help from the dispensers. It worked relatively well, but it would still take forty days to change her name, and then another forty to change her gender.

Eighty fucking days. 

"Complaint noted. We will take it under consideration.”

They wouldn't.

“Here are your rations. Enjoy!” And with that, a drawing of the Station from another planet popped up, white on a dark, balck background, with a touch of faded blue around the edges, turning in a jittery way, as there were only three frames to the animation. A plastic cup dropped down, roughly the size of an average slushie cup, and a green paste dropped down and started to fill it. When it was done, a straw dropped down and in to a whole at the top, completing the drink.

Then, two square packages, each wrapped in paper, fell down, one on either side of the drink. The one to the left was a protein square, wrapped in red paper. On the top was a white circle, with a cartoon drawing of a ham on a bone in it. The other package was the carbohydrate square, wrapped in a light, yellow paper, with a similar circle on the top, however this one had a raised loaf of bread in it. They were each roughly six by six centimetres long, and a centimetre in depth.

Natsuki didn’t even bother looking at them as the glass lifted and she scooped them up. She’d been eating these for as long as she could remember, and at this point their designs were carved in to her memory, as unforgettable as her father’s face.

Regrettably.

She reflected on this as she ate them. The carbohydrate square was almost exactly like a flapjack, sweet with syrup and oats, while the protein square was tougher, the synth meat taking effort to tear apart. She saved the nutrient paste for last, purely because it would take the longest to consume. It had a very faint taste of broccoli and cabbage, but other than that it was very easy to say it tasted of almost nothing.

She knew from experience that they didn’t get rid of hunger, per se. They just dulled it down so that it was a gnaw instead of a bite, so that her body would keep on ticking over as long as she concentrated on ignoring the hollow feeling in her stomach. She wouldn’t die, and that was enough, for now. It had to be enough.

She was walking down the street aimlessly, wondering what she would do form hereon in. Returning back to the apartment was such a bad idea that it was dismissed out of hand. She could go back to Hirai’s house, but how would that pan out?

“Hey, I’m that girl who ditched you with no further explanation. Can I live here now?”

Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to work out.

She tried to take stock of what she had. She had: the clothes she was wearing, which were brown chinos and white top with pink rims and a little pink cat that said “Y’know, like... Nyah?”; She had the second skin she had left at Yuri’s; She had a strip of pink ribbon, frayed at the edges, which was all that was left of her dress; She had her phone; and she had her cup of nutrient paste.

All things considered, she had very little.

She could try and live on the streets; after all, she could get her washing done for free once a week at any Station appointed steamer. Shelter, of course, wouldn't be too much of an issue, as the entirety of the station was thermoregulated and had almost no changes in climate. However, hygiene _would_ become an issue; she wanted to be able to shower every day, not just when luck would decide she could.

Which she could do if she was living at Hirai’s house. It wasn’t exactly a mansion like Yuri’s, but it was still bigger than most of the other houses on the Station. But again, how the hell would Natsuki go about it?

She was so deep in thought as she tried to plan out her next move that she almost missed Sayori waving at her.

Natsuki did a double take, looking over to the café window. She was just outside of the café, on the pavement, wondering aimlessly with a half-filled cup of nutrient paste, and stopped dead to look in to the café and at Sayori. She was facing her, and had stood up from her seat to give a massive wave, putting her whole body in to it as she gave a broad smile. She looked as though she was wearing clothes that were much too big for her, with the white T-shirt swamping her body.

Natsuki slowly looked towards the door. It would be rude to leave them now that they had made eye contact. Besides, it seemed that Sayori was actually excited to see her. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves, readying herself for the disappointment that was going to be piled on to her.

She deserved it.

A small bell rung as she entered the café. There were about two other groups of people in here, with Sayori looking to be the most enthusiastic. She had a massive plate of pancakes in front of her that looked as though it were meant to be a meal for two, complete with whipped cream, syrup and blueberries, but it was almost finished.

It was then that Natsuki suddenly realised that Sayori wasn’t alone. Sitting across from her, in green chinos and a flannel shirt, was Monika. Natsuki was fairly sure that Monika wouldn’t forget last night so easily, which meant that the next five minutes were going to be a lot worse than she thought. She was sitting there, staring at the pancakes and avoiding looking at her.

Well, that sucked.

“Hey there Natsuki! What’re you doing over in this part of town?” Sayori asked, bubbling with far too much enthusiasm. Natsuki had to actively stop herself from seeming suspicious; did Sayori really not care about what happened last night at all?

“I’m just on a walk. You know, out and about. What about you?” She hastily added, trying to avoid Sayori asking her where she was going.

“Oh, me and Monika were just having breakfast!”

Natsuki raised her eyebrows as she glanced over to Monika, who was sinking back in to her chair as she seemed to lose her confidence.

“Oh? How come?” Natsuki asked as she looked back to Sayori.

“Well, she didn’t have anything in her house to eat, and I was hungry!” Sayori didn’t seem to quite grasp the implications of this, but Monika very much did.

“You slept over Monika’s?” Natsuki asked as she looked back over to Monika, who now had a light blush dusting her cheeks. It wasn’t anger, Natsuki realised.

It was embarrassment.

As she realised this, Monika straightened up in her chair and glared at Natsuki.

“ _Not_ like that,” Monika said, her voice so cold that Natsuki could practically feel it dripping down her spine. “Not all of us go about seducing random women.”

Well, maybe it was both.

“Hey, I didn’t seduce anyone!” Natsuki said. Damn, she didn’t mean to start an argument, but for some reason, she had managed to do it again. It seemed almost unavoidable at this point. Every time she opened her fucking mouth she would piss someone off. She almost felt that it was best just to shut up and sit down, but she’d never been able to do that, either.

“You just happened to go home with her, hmm?” Monika had her arms crossed now, and had shifted in her seat to stare at Natsuki fully. Sayori was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as she fidgeted in her seat, shifting this way and then the other.

“Yeah.” Natsuki sighed. She didn’t want an argument. Monika seemed taken aback by this, surprised by how easy Natsuki was giving up, but Natsuki didn’t give her enough time to say anything. “Yeah, I went home with her, but I didn’t fuck her.” At that, a woman a few tables over whipped her head around to stare daggers in to Natsuki, but she didn’t pay her any mind. She instead just looked at the pancakes, because looking at Sayori was uncomfortable and looking at Monika was painful.

“Huh.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Natsuki looked up to Monika to find that the silent rage had been transformed in to a sort of confusion, with her head cocked and brow furrowed.

“Then why did you go home with her?” Monika asked. Her eyes were piercing, but that was still a lot less uncomfortable than what Natsuki had to face before, so she wasn’t in any position to complain.

“Well,” Natsuki mumbled, “I was gunna fuck her, but...” Natsuki swallowed dryly as the woman across the room’s face got even more twisted, but she couldn’t even see it. She was trying to figure out what to say.

She couldn’t tell them about Yuri.

But if she didn’t, they’d have every reason to hate her, because she would be lying, again. And it would just prove that she was untrustworthy. Again.

But if she did tell them about Yuri, then Yuri would know. And then Yuri’s life would get far more complicated, because she couldn’t just date Natsuki. She had her father, and Victor, and more things than Natsuki could even pretend to know about swirling about, making that impossible.

And that was the best-case scenario. Because, even if Yuri did want to date her, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t be repulsed by her body.

Natsuki clenched her fist to the point where she felt her nails dig in to her palms.

No.

She couldn’t draw back to that line of thinking. She’d been there, done that. She’d have to just handle the hurdles as they come, as she had done all of her life. Thinking like that had no benefits, she reminded herself, and all she’d get from it were tears forming in the corners of her eyes that she’d have to hide from the friends standing in front of her.

The friends which needed an answer.

She couldn’t lie. She didn’t want to lie. So, Natsuki decided to tell the truth, even if it was only a part of it.

“I... was uncomfortable. I didn’t like it.”

“Good job.” Monika said, softly. There wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in her words, as they sounded genuine and comforting. “That isn’t always easy, so I’m proud.” And then, after a pause, she added: “Even if you did ruin Yuri’s shot at getting out of this,” with just a hint of humour.

Natsuki chuckled slightly. “Hey, it wasn’t as if she was getting anywhere by just ogling at her from the other side of the room!”

They all burst out in to fits of giggles at that, and all seemed well, the previously awkward tension dispersed somewhat.

“After I eat this, we’re going shopping. Wanna come?” Sayori asked as she began to pile food in to her mouth. She seemed way too excited at the prospect of shopping, and it was hard to turn down her enthusiasm.

“Sure thing.”

Natsuki pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. She noticed that, while Sayori had clearly eaten, none of Monika’s utensils looked dirty in the slightest. Hell, they looked as though they hadn’t even been moved. Natsuki opened her mouth to say something, but Sayori had finished by the time she could, bolting to her feet and yelling “Come on! Let’s go!” to the other two girls, physically dragging Natsuki to her feet.

\-----

Sayori turned what was probably a ten minute walk in to a half-hour walk. She wanted to go in every shop they passed, tugging at Natsuki’s hand like an excited child and pointing at the engravings and screens on the outside of the shops, advertising what they were selling within.

Most of them sold fairly mundane items. There were toasters, new and improved wireless chargers with even more range than before, and second skins that offered far more comfort that they didn’t know they needed. It was when they walked in to the seventh store that somebody had to finally step in.

“So, tell me, what kind of vehicle you looking for? Ground or sky, or even space, perhaps?” The salesman asked as he put his hand through his long, brown hair to sweep it out of his eyes. Sayori had already raised both of her hands to her chest in excitement, but was pulled away by Natsuki before she could.

“We’re not buying a car.” Natsuki said as she walked out of the store, the door sliding upwards in front of her to reveal Monika, who was waiting outside.

“But -”

“Can you even drive?” Monika asked, shaking her head in disbelief slightly.

“Natsuki can though! We could share!” Sayori protested as she looked back over her shoulder at the screen that was showcasing different models of cars and ships. The Solarglider III, the fastest personal space vehicle money can buy, flashed on the screen, it’s yellow-tinted wings drawing the eye away from the exuberant price. 

“Not legally, dumbass. Come on, you’re not getting in to debt before noon. You can only pull that off if you’re hammered.”

Sayori pouted, but continued to the store nonetheless.

The store in question was one of the few left on the station. Most people could just ask their dispenser to buy items for them, and they’d be delivered to their doorstep the next day, but a few stores remained for those that liked to wonder about and buy things without the dispenser, for whatever reason.

Which, as it turned out, was quite a few people.

So, they entered the store and began shopping. There were rows upon rows upon rows of aisles, each with increasingly specific foodstuffs and items. Sayori insisted on looking down the aisle entitled “glumberries,”  which contained different variations of glumberry from more planets than she could name, each one being sold as an individual item, or as a syrup, powder or a candied slice.

Natsuki had never tasted one before.

Then again, she hadn’t tasted a lot of exotic foods. She always reasoned it with the fact that “exotic” was a relative term; toenail lizards were probably exotic to someone out there, so she wasn’t about to be swept up by a meat that had a fancy name that probably meant “spew gizzards” or the like.

“Hey, Monika, what’re you getting?” Sayori asked, entirely out of the blue and switching conversational tracks entirely. Monika just looked up at her from the shelf and raised her eyebrows with a slight “hmm?”

“We’re here to shop for you, dummy! Your cupboards are empty, you’ll starve! C’mon, what’re we getting you?” Sayori said as she got closer to Monika, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Um.” Monika began as she looked to Sayori, and then to Natsuki for help, who just offered a shrug, and then back to Sayori. “Peaches?”

“You’ve got peaches! That’s the only thing you’ve got in your house! Ten cans of peaches! What do you even do with cans of peaches?”

“Actually, you’ll find it’s three cans of peaches -”

“That’s not any better!”

“And I like peaches. They, uh. Hoo boy, peaches. They’re just so... peachy.”

Sayori groaned as Natsuki ran her fingers through her hair, watching Monika’s face twist in to a sly grin as she turned back towards the shelf.

“Did you set this entire scenario up so you could say that one fucking pun?” Natsuki said as she stared up at the bright, artificial white of the ceiling lights.

“No!”

“Alright, so really, what do you want?” Natsuki pressed. Monika just pursed her lips and started tapping away on the holographic screen of her phone.

“I need... breakfast squares, milk, pasta, flavour packets and some scones.”

“Chocolate breakfast squares?” Sayori asked.

“No, ordinary breakfast squares. You don’t need a sugar rush and then a sugar low before you even get to school.”

Natsuki turned her head to look at Monika as they began to walk up the aisle.

“Why the hell is Sayori eating your breakfast squares?” She asked.

“Because she’s staying over mine for a bit.” Monika said. She quickened her pace until she was pulling ahead of Natsuki, hiding the light blush over her cheeks. Natsuki decided that she was skating on thin enough ice already, so didn’t want to push it.

Sayori, as blissfully unaware as ever, had already skipped over to the milk section.

“What type of milk, Monika?”

“Sparrivir, quarter skimmed. It lasts the longest.”

Sayori nodded and picked up the bottle.

“So, how long are you staying with Monika then, hmm?” Natsuki asked, grinning slightly. It was part genuine curiosity, but also partly fuelled by mischief. This living arrangement was odd, and she had to know more.

“Oh, I didn’t want to step on your toes too much, so I’m leaving for home after this,” Sayori said as she absentmindedly tried to find her way to the breakfast section.

“Then why are we buying all this food?” Monika asked, stopping in her tracks in disbelief. She put her hands on her hips, and then moved them to gesture to the store, and then brought them back again, not knowing what to do with them.

“Because you don’t have any food and you’ll starve! Now come on!” Sayori said. She was pouting slightly, and making faces that Natsuki didn’t quite understand and was fairly sure that she didn’t want to understand.

“I can shop for myself!”

“But you don’t!”

“Hey, Monika? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat,” Natsuki said. Monika looked down to her side at Natsuki, who was looking back up at her with an inquisitive look.

“I eat!”

“That sounds like something a being who didn’t eat would say.”

“But I do!”

“Like?”

Monika stopped for a second before looking away, only to find that Sayori was also staring at her with a similarly curious stare, so she had to resign to stare at cans of beans. Ah, well. At least Old Hafrade’s was always there for her.

“I just have a lot going on at lunch so I eat very quickly.”

“But you’ve sat with us at lunch before! You sit with us at lunch all the time!” Sayori said, walking back to where they were, resigning herself to the fact that they weren’t going to get lead down the chocolate aisle yet.

“I don’t get hungry often. I eat big breakfasts and dinners.”

“A second ago you ate lunch quickly. Make your fucking mind up, Monika.” Natsuki joked, chuckling slightly as she walked onwards. “Come on, this shopping isn’t going to do itself!”

Monika was uncomfortable.

Natsuki could tell that much. Monika was uncomfortable, and Sayori didn’t know when to stop asking questions, so it was up to her to make them drop the conversation. After all, Monika and Sayori had thrown her a bone; the least she could do was to throw them the same.

So, she walked forwards and didn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to worldbuild and set down an economy! Whoo!
> 
> As always, comments are welcome, from keysmashes to predictions to analysis to a simple "neat!"


	14. Newtonian Reflector, Revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'm sorry this took so long to update. I always meant to get around to updating it, but just couldn't sit down and type. Eventually, I got so angry that I just made myself do it, so voila! You have what you see before you! Please, enjoy.
> 
> On a more serious note, tags have been updated. Please, take heed.

Sayori was walking home, cursing herself from earlier.

The dim light of the streetlights, each fastened in to the exterior of a large metallic building, washed over her face in streaks as she moved from darkness, to marginally dim light, and back to darkness again. She was trying not to cry, but a single tear refused to be pushed back in to her as she ground the heel of her palm against her eye. It dripped out, slowly sliding down her nose before coming to rest on her upper lip.

She didn’t know when to stop. She had been uncomfortable, making both of her friends obviously uncomfortable. She was skating on the thinnest of ice whilst making Monika, who was keeping her as a guest out of the goodness of her heart, grind her teeth,

This is why they hated her. She had even made Natsuki think they were a couple, which Monika had hated. She was speechless, and it was one of the few times Sayori had seen Monika lost for words. Mind, anyone would be if someone assumed that Sayori was dating them. How badly did you have to think of someone if you assumed they were dating Sayori?

She shook her head violently. Negative thoughts weren’t going to help here. Besides, there are plenty of other logical reasons for Monika getting all awkward, even if none of them were true. She could have thought of an embarrassing memory, even though she probably had none. She could have just been mad at Natsuki, even though she clearly wasn’t, and was super willing to give Natsuki a second chance. She could have actually like Sayori, even though she was Sayori.

No. That was too hopeful and too negative at the same time, Sayori decided. Somehow, she’d managed to mix the both, which was an entirely new form of messing up.

Wait, why was it too hopeful?

If Monika liked her, then she’d just be miserable because she’d be dating Sayori, and would have to deal with what Sayori dealt with on a daily basis. She’d drag her down to her depths, to wallow in mud and self-pity with her. Except it wouldn’t be self-pity for Monika: it would be care. She would have to care for Sayori, sapping her strength, her love of humanity and her general will to live.

And what would Sayori gain out of it, anyway? It’d just be selfish, sapping away Monika’s soul for her own damn benefit. She didn’t want anyone else to feel like this, even if it meant she had to. Making other people feel like this would make her feel worse, sending her down a spiral because that, in itself, was selfish and she hated it. She couldn’t even just will Monika to not help her out of care for her; it all came back to Sayori.

And now she was getting all worked up over hypotheticals, she realised as she failed to stop another tear from bursting out. Monika didn’t like her, and even if she did, Sayori didn’t like her back so there was no point thinking about it.

Sayori came to a stop in front of a door and tapped her wrist on the lock, opening it up. The outside to her house was fairly nondescript: just like any other building in the neighbourhood, its grey, metallic walls were faded and in need of a buffing up, and it rose up in to the night, tall and slim. As the door rose open, Sayori walked inside, still trying to bite back tears.

“Hi!” Sayori warbled out, her voice raising pitch towards the end of the word. It sounded weak, and she curled up her left fist as the word left her mouth. She hated how vulnerable she sounded right now, but it wasn’t like she was just going to walk inside without telling her dad she was here.

There was a moment of silence as Sayori waited in the enterance hall. It seemed like too fancy a word to describe it, but it was what everyone called it. It was a pale room, with white floors and walls, and a pale blue cabinet filled with odds and ends. The entire house was done to a colour scheme of white, pale blues and pale greens that felt as fake as they looked, with paint flaking off of the older cabinets to reveal a dull, greying white underneath.

“Evening, honey!” A voice called back from the living room. He sounded so casual, so calm, and so dismissive.

Sayori didn’t want to be seen crying. She didn’t want to be seen in this state, but she sure as hell did want to be seen, so she forced herself to walk in to the living room.

It was another white room, with a baby blue wall behind the pea green sofa and armchair. Sayori’s father sat in the armchair, with his feet up on a similarly green pouffe. He was a middle-aged man, with brown hair that was beginning to thin, and government-prescribed glasses that he used to read the newstablet which was hovering in front of him. He scrolled through it as Sayori entered, meandering from one headline to the next, as Sayori looked at him through the semi-transparentness of the tablet. He was wearing a worn shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow, because he couldn’t fit the fraying cuff up above the elbow, and suit trousers that had one too many stains on them.

Sayori sat on the sofa and waited for a minute. He scrolled through his feed in silence as she wrung her hands, pressing her nails in to each of her fingertips until she had to stop for fear of ruining her second skin.

“So.” Sayori started.

“Hmm?”  Her father barely looked away from the paper; if he had looked at her, Sayori had missed it.

“How was your day?”

“Oh, the same as always, sweetie. I went to the factory, I built a bunch of solarglider wings. Same old, same old.”

Sayori sat and stared at her hands, which were clasping each other even more intently. They lapsed in to another long silence as Sayori finally forced herself to realise that he didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to ask how the sleepover went, or who Monika was, or how the ball was. He didn’t want to ask about the bruise forming on her left cheek, or what was bothering her. He wanted to scroll from headline to headline until he had to sleep again, and then heading back to work, before coming home to waste time again.

This was stupid.

She shot up out of her chair and rushed out of the room, scampering up the stairs until she was leaning back against her door, in her room again. It wasn’t as comforting as she remembered it.

The desk that lined the left wall almost looked studious, but the dust all over it showed how rarely Sayori could actually find it in herself to revise. The bed was unmade, as always, and the sun plushie that had been bought for her by her mother, at some stage, looked worn and on its last legs, almost as though it was ready to be discarded. The beanbag at the bottom of the bed which she read in looked too childish, a harsh, vibrant pink with two eyes that were never in the right place. This hadn’t been her room for some time, not really, but she had avoided that fact up until now. It looked like the room of an optimistic eight-year-old, with yellow walls and a white bed. She was half surprised she hadn’t bitten the bullet and hung up a mobile, she thought to herself bitterly. But then again, hanging anyth-

No.

Sayori was slumped down on the floor, a stream of tears flowing freely from her eyes as she rested her head back against the door, desperately trying to block out the thoughts. It was like trying to help a sinking ship: if she plugged one hole, water would flow in through another, and another, and another. Repressing the thoughts just meant she would have to deal with them later, which was always a difficult decision for Sayori.

Even in her emotional state, desperately trying to fight against the urge to sink to even deeper levels of self-hatred, Sayori saw she had an option: either deal with her bad thoughts in the presence of other people, and make them miserable by being miserable, or.

Or.

Deal with them now, when she was alone and with a houseful of items she could kill herself with.

It wouldn’t be hard.

She had three different belts, two of which would hold her weight if she was suspended from the banister. It wasn’t difficult to take a drug out of the medicine cabinet and figure out how much would kill her – she had the internet, after all. Or, even easier, use the medical scissors from the cabinet to slit a major artery, and then sit in a hot bath so she didn’t clot over. Or she cou-

Or she could try and deal with the pain. Again.

It didn’t work last time, though. She tried to put her best foot forward, and she had gone looking for a fight which she couldn’t win. She told herself she wasn’t going to worry Monika again, of course not, but it hadn’t even been a day and she was already contemplating suicide.

God, she was a failure.

But at least, Sayori told herself, she was a failure who shouldn’t think like that.

She also knew, somehow, in the midst of a stream of tears, that she couldn’t be alone. She was going to keep going around in circles, digging herself deeper and deeper in to a pit of despair that she couldn’t deal with. She’d reach the bottom and find the rope lying there, the rope that had been there for years, and then finally take matters in to her own hands.

So, before she could even figure out what was happening, she had her phone in her hand and was dialling a number. She couldn’t properly see anything through her tears, but she knew she had dialed the right number when Monika answered.

“Hey there, Sayori! What’s up?” Monika said, sounding cheerful, despite the tiredness that penetrated through the obvious smile that Sayori could hear.

It was probably a forced smile, anyway.

Sayori half choked back a sob at that thought before taking a deep breath to speak.

“Hey Monika!”

God, who did that fake sounding voice belong to? Ho-

“Are you ok?” Monika’s voice was riddled with concern. Sayori was about to say that no, she was fine, and there was no reason to be worried, but she was having that same feeling in her chest. It was swelling, expanding, a negative wave of energy that refused to stay put, refused to just escape through tears and private sobs. Somebody, anybody, needed to know, even if it would kill Sayori to tell someone.

“No.” The word was soft, Sayori’s voice raw and cracking. And, just like that, with a single word, Sayori felt empty. She felt spent, with tears freely rolling down her cheeks while her breath, ragged and weak, left her. “I’m not ok.”

“Do you want to come around mine again?” Monika offered, and for the first time in a long time, Sayori could accept it when she told herself that Monika wasn’t being fake. “I meant it when I said you can stay for as long as you like.”

“Really?” Sayori asked, hope barely making the word audible.

“Of course. Bring some school clothes and you’ll be all set.”

Sayori sat, stunned, not knowing what to do.

And, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to apologise for existing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Heavy chapter, but at least it lifted up a little in the end.
> 
> Please, feel free to tell me what you think of it all so far! Reading comments makes my day, even if I don't get around to responding to them in a timely fashion... '^^


	15. Grab-N-Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I swear I'll give Yuri some spotlight soon, OK? She's not gone, I swear.

Natsuki was starving.

Yes, she’d had her nutrient paste, but she was rationing herself out so that her protein and carbohydrates lasted over the week, so hadn’t had them today. Besides, the hunger was worse today: it was a slow, painful gnawing that persisted throughout everything she did, permeating every part of her body. It felt like a knife was being sharpened against a sharpening stone in her stomach, again and again, with each jerk of the knife sending a vibration through her body that felt like nails against a chalkboard.

That’s how she found herself in a run-down corner shop, in the middle of a less than reputable part of the Station, standing in front of the chocolate aisle.

The glass on the windows to the shop were grimy, and the door didn’t even slide left and right like it was meant to, instead staying three-quarters open, allowing plenty of room for each customer to walk in and out. There was nobody at the cluttered checkout, and the only store employee was currently leaning against a wall outside, taking a cigarette break.

He was grimy, with a slicked back mullet that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks and enough acne that you could count out three different constellations on his face. He had his eyes closed whe Natsuki walked in, and didn’t seem to even register she was there.

The shelves weren’t stocked anywhere near properly. There was fresh fruit in the cooler, cans on the shelves and chocolate scattered along fresh fruit stand. One square of chocolate was tucked between two limes, it’s grey and orange wrapper glaringly misplaced among the green fruit.

Natsuki had never had a lime.

They were meant to be... sour, right? Like lemons? But limes weren’t exactly going to help her here. She wanted something that would at least take away the hunger she was feeling, and sucking on a lemon didn’t feel like the best way to do that. So, she stood in front of one of the aisles, scanning the shelves as she looked for something good. 

Was she really going to do this?

Was she a thief now? Stealing from others, taking food out of the mouths of the hungry just so she didn’t have to see her own papa? Why did they have to suffer instead of her? When did that become her choice?

And yet, as this raced through her mind, a square of chocolate wrapped in bright pink foil jumped out at her and goaded her in to stealing it. It was chocolate filled with strawberry jelly, it told her, and Natsuki had never wanted to eat a food more than she wanted to eat the Pink Chocojel on the shelf in front of her. She looked to her right, and then left, when she realised she wasn’t alone in the store.

A man was walking around the corner, the soles of his shoes slapping loudly on the floor as he did so. Natsuki hurried to make herself look less suspicious, which obviously had the opposite effect almost immediately. She hurriedly looked about, looking for something to do, to make it look like she wasn’t stealing, or about to, and in her panic she turned and faced the man.

The man looked up at her, almost expectantly, and it was then she realised he was an employee. She didn’t have any questions, though, and he was waiting for something, so...

“Hi!”

The man blinked.

He was an older man, balding on the top of his head but with a thick, brown, bristly caterpillar of a moustache on his upper lip. He was somewhat overweight, with fat wrinkling in a kindly way on his forehead, wedging his thin framed spectacles in place. He clearly wasn’t strapped for cash, as they weren’t government assigned frames; as a matter of fact, they were brown framed, circular glasses that had a strap that went around the man’s neck to ensure they didn’t fall to the ground if they slipped off. He wore a polo top with chinos and braces that made his beer belly look slightly worse, but above everything else, his smile stood out.

It was kind. It didn’t seem fake, or overbearing, or devious. It simply was.

“May I help you, good sir?” He asked.

“Uh, Miss.” Natsuki answered, almost by reflex. This was why she liked to wear her skirt, not the jeans she had on.

“Ah, apologies for that, madam.” There was a pause for a few seconds as they both stood there awkwardly as Natsuki tried to think of something to say to make this guy get out of her face and let her get back to stealing.

“Were you here about the job application, by any chance?” He asked, breaking the slowly growing stalemate before it accumulated to anything.

“Job application?”

“Why, yes. I’m looking for someone to staff the store during the nights. Mondays through Thursdays, every week, from six until ten. That’s 16 hours a week, if you don’t work weekends.”

Natsuki probably shouldn’t get a job. Hell, she didn’t even have a place to live yet. But she did need money. She needed money for food, as proven by her even being here in the first place. Besides, there was no harm in asking, surely?

“What times on the weekends?” Natsuki tentatively asked. His face lit up instantly.

“Well, Isamu currently does Friday night, Saturday all day and Sunday all day, but I’m sure he’d appreciate being able to swap some shifts with you so he can go out and party for once in his damn life!” The man chortled at his own little joke, arching his back backwards and slapping his hands on his stomach. It looked surreal.

“Uh, sure. And what’s pay like?”

“Ah, the important question. If I’m going to interview you, we’d best do it upstairs.” He began to waddle off to the back of the shop, casting a glance over his shoulder to see if Natsuki would follow.

Natsuki took a second to think. Did she want to follow this strange man up in to an unknown place when nobody knew where she was, and there was no one around to help her?

Sure, why not. Not like she had anything to lose.

So, Natsuki followed him upstairs. The upstairs was slightly less grimy than the downstairs, but just as cluttered. There was a large door that had the words “Mr. Kado” on them, but the man instead went through the door to the right and passed a series of doors. There were five: two on either side and one at the end. Only one of the doors lit up with a name when they passed, displaying a battered Isamu. Again, they passed all these and went through the door at the end, which opened up to an office.

There was clutter all around the office. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in one of the back corners, and through the holoscreen of the computer Natsuki could see that there were far too many tabs open at once. The man sat down on the opposite side of the desk, sitting back in to what looked to be an armchair as he gestured for Natsuki to sit in a computer chair.

How did he fit an armchair through the door?

The man leaned over the desk, and Natsuki leaned back to match his forward progression before he extended a meaty palm.

“Mr. Kado, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Natsuki. It’s, uh, good to meet you too. Sir.” She said, stumbling over her words as she took his massive hand in her tiny one. He shook it with gusto exactly three times before letting go and sitting back down properly.

“So, Natsuki. You want to work here?” He asked, peering over his glasses inquisitively. Unfortunately for him, it also exaggerated his double chin.

“Um. Yeah.” Natsuki replied, unsure of how to respond. After all, that was why she was here, right?

“Good, good,” he nodded, before opening a draw in his desk and fumbling around for something. He brought out a long, thin, metal cuboid. It looked like a chocolate bar, but larger and with a thin, blue strip going along the top of it. “I’ll need you to tap your bracelet on to the top of the blue strip and give your consent, if you will. It’ll transfer your necessary information on to my computer here.” He held it out expectantly as he fiddled around with tabs on the screen of his computer.

Natsuki was sweating pinballs. If she tapped this, then he would know. Mr. Kado would know.

But then, didn’t he already know? He thought she was a guy earlier.

But that might have just been a mistake.

But it might have not been.

He was bigger than her. He could probably overpower her. But she could probably outrun him. But he would know who her papa was, and that could cause no end of hell.

But papa already knew about all that. That’s why she wasn’t going back.

But -

“Are you feeling ok?”

Fuck. 

She couldn’t back out now, that would look too suspicious, so she slowly leaned forward and steeled her nerves, pushing the rising emotions right back down to where they came from as she tapped her bracelet against Mr. Kado’s device.

“I, Nathan Higashi, give my consent.” The blue strip flashed green as information flew on to the computer’s holoscreen. Her date of birth, residence and birthname were all there for him to see in the plain light of day.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked down and focused on a mug, plain white except for a cartoon thumbs up, half empty with the remnants of a light green drink in there. She couldn’t look at anything else; her heart was racing and the edges of her vision was beginning to blur.

He knew.

“So, tell me: how do I spell Natsuki?”

It suddenly felt as though Natsuki had become hollow, only for that hollowness to be flooded with positivity a moment later.

He knew, but he was fine with it. 

“N-A-T-S-U-K-I.” She said, looking up to his kind, sincere smile.

“Good, good,” he muttered as he tapped away at his keyboard. “Now, you’re eighteen, so you’re eligible. No prior work experience, but everyone’s got to start somewhere. Any interests?”

“I’m part of a Literature Club,” Natsuki offered. Mr. Kado’s face lit up immediately.

“Literature! Oh, that takes me back. I’m currently making my way through the Sherlock Holmeses. Do you have any particular favourites?”

Now, Natsuki reasoned, was not the time to bring up Parfair Girls.

“Sherlock Holmes! What a classic,” Natsuki lied, never having heard of them. She racked her brains for books that sounded clever, sounded smart, but she was drawing a blank. She liked fluff, filler, and happiness – this was not her field of experise.

It was, however, Yuri’s field of expertise.

“I’m a fan of Portrait of Markov myself.”

“Oh, really?” He asked as he leant forward.

“Yeah, I even managed to find see a physical copy once!” Natsuki bragged as she leant back and crossed her arms smugly.

“Why, I never. You must be really in to your literature! I don’t think I’ve seen a physical book ever!” He cleared his throat and leaned back, somewhat embarrassed by his excitement. “Well, never mind. Would you be able to work the hours I laid out?”

“Absolutely. What’s the pay like?”

“Well, a 32-hour week is a Briinar and a quarter a day, which is eight and three quarter Briinar a week. You’re working a 16-hour week, though, so you’ll be paid four and three eighths of a Briinar a week, unless you decide to take on more shifts in the future. How does that sound to you?”

That... was minimum wage, but it was more money than Natsuki had ever had in her life. She could only really remember one time she had ever had a full Briinar to her name – she'd bought her favourite outfit with it, and her very first skirt.

He nodded and murmured to himself for about half a minute before nodding very firmly and repeating the word yes.

“In that case, I’d like to offer you a position in the Grab-N-Go. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Um.”

Natsuki hadn’t really expected to get this far.

“Of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki's got a job, babey!
> 
> Please please please comment! It's what motivates me to write new chapters!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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